


Autumn

by foxinthestars



Series: Fox in the Stars' further adventures of Seta Soujiro [6]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Angst, Blanket Permission, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 82,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinthestars/pseuds/foxinthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this continuation of my previous Soujiro fanfics, he finds a home at last, but when the government catches up to him, he finds his situation more desperate than ever now that he has something worth his life, or perhaps even more.  This is the "Autumn Arc" of my Soujiro fanfic, a series of short stories whose continuity is tight enough that I'm posting them as chapters.  It ignores all canon after the Kyoto Arc and has been on indefinite hiatus since 2003, but I still have a dream that I'll finish it someday...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Changing Leaves, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who wants to use my work as a basis for their own fanfic, fanart, podfic, translation, etc. has my permission to do so. Just credit me as appropriate.

Changing Leaves  
Part One

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2002

*

 _  
**year Meiji 12  
1879**   
_

_  
**September 22**   
_

“We have the building surrounded!” the policeman’s shout echoed through the night air and filtered into the inn. “Surrender yourself and turn over the girl!”

“Hurry!” the old woman said, then stopped and grabbed Soujiro’s jacket, which was printed with the name and symbol of the inn. “Wait, take that jacket off... May as well put a nametag on you...”

“Do you really have to leave?” the little girl asked, clinging to his hakama.

“You have five minutes, and then we break down the doors!” the police officer shouted.

“Don’t worry, Tomi-chan, you’re coming with me,” Soujiro said. He disentangled himself from the jacket and picked her up.

“It’s too dangerous for her!” the older man insisted.

“I don’t care if it is! I’m going with my Onii-chan!(1)” she countered.

“You heard what he said. The police are going to take her if I don’t.”

“Enough, there’s no time!” the old woman said. You have to go, now!”

Soujiro started for the door, then paused and turned back to the older couple. “When the police come in, you have to tell them I made you keep me here.”

“We can’t do that!” the old man insisted.

“Please do it! I don’t want you to have any trouble about me. I’ve done so much a little more isn’t going to matter. Please promise.”

“All right,” the woman said, before her husband could protest.

“Thank you. Well, then, good-bye.”

“Bye-bye, Ojisan; bye-bye, Obachan(2),” Tomi said, waving to them over Soujiro’s shoulder as they followed him to the small back door.

“Come back when you can, you hear?” the old man said.

“I will,” Soujiro answered. “Now stand away from the door, please.”

Once they were out of the path of any gunfire, Soujiro situated the girl on his shoulder and put his hand on the sliding door. _No hesitation..._

He whipped the door open and hit the ground running, all in one motion. There were shouts of “There!” and a few pops of gunshots, barely audible above his own footsteps. He couldn’t quite get to Shuku-Chi speed with the encumbrance, and a little slower was more taxing, with each step a jarring blow against the ground. He didn’t have to maintain this speed long, though. Just enough to get a safe distance away...

As he was reaching the edge of the peach trees around the inn, there came a sharp, clear sound like a crack of thunder. Suddenly, Soujiro felt a stunning blow on one side of his back, so hard that it nearly spun him around. He skidded to a stop, crouching down to keep his balance, and he grabbed Tomi again as his left arm gave way under her and she started to fall. His mind spun, trying to make sense of it as pain exploded through his left arm, sending ripples through his mind that broke up his thoughts. _My left arm—Stupid! Running in a straight line—Hit in my shoulder— **That’s where Tomi was!! NO no no no!!**_

“Tomi-chan!” he cried, shaking her. “Are you okay!?”

She was trembling, and only managed a tiny sound.

“Tomi-chan!!”

“I– I’m okay! I thought you were dead...”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he said, “Put your arms around my neck, okay?” He knew he didn’t have much time, and he quickly picked her up again, with his right arm under her. He got a good grip on the ground with one foot, then kicked off and was running again.

**********

 _  
**Earlier that year...  
April 4**   
_

Soujiro wrapped the padded kimono over his shoulders as he walked down the street of the small town, doing his best not to disturb the bird he was carrying in his kimono. He gave a slight sigh; “Everything’s already closed. I thought if I hurried I could make it in time to get a room and something to eat...” He shrugged. “Well, it happens.” There had been a footbridge across a stream that skirted the town on his way in. As he remembered it, there should be some room there where he could sleep with something over his head. That was important; the air smelled like rain.

 _I guess that’s just how much longer my money lasts._ It would probably be gone in a week as it was. Maybe after that he could sell the padded kimono, but now that winter was over and he’d given it so much use, he wouldn’t be able to get so much for it, and it wasn’t so warm yet that he didn’t like having it in the evenings, or to sleep under if he had to sleep outside. For ten years he’d wanted for nothing materially; it had been a surprise how much money it had cost him for that one padded kimono, and even that hadn’t kept him from nearly freezing to death once that winter.

“But the important thing is we have somewhere to be tonight, ne, Kotori-san?” he said, looking down at her. No reply. It was late; the little bird had fallen asleep already. “I’m so hungry, though...” He remembered when he was very small, even before his mother took him to live with his father’s family, she would tell him to drink a lot of water so that he wouldn’t feel hungry. There was someone drawing water from a well at the end of the street, so he kept walking toward it.

As he got closer, he could see that the person at the well was a little girl, probably not more than six years old, pulling on the rope with her entire body to raise the bucket. “Do you want some help?” he asked.

“Ah!” she started and whipped around, and lost her grip on the rope. “Oh, no!” she cried as the distant sound of the bucket crashing back into the water echoed from the well.

“Ah, I’m sorry! It was my fault,” Soujiro said, bowing. “Please let me get it for you.”

“Okay...” she moved around him cautiously, from his left side to his right. She sat on the stone blocks around the well and watched him sidelong.

Soujiro easily pulled the bucket up, hand over hand, and set it down beside the girl. “There.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“No, no, it was my fault you dropped the first one,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Is it okay if I ask why you’re awake so late?”

“What about you?”

“I’m just traveling around. I thought I could get a room for the night, but I got here too late. You?”

“You’re traveling all by yourself?” she asked, still not turning toward him.

“Mm,” he nodded. “Well, me and Kotori-san.”

“Kotori-san?”

“I think she’s asleep, but here she is...” He held the front of his kimono open so that she could see the bird.

“Ahh! Kawaii!!(3)” the girl cried, forgetting her reticence and eagerly leaning over to look. “Can I hold her?”

“Well, I don’t mind if you want to touch her. I guess I’ll have to wake her up when I lay down to sleep anyway...” he carefully picked up Kotori-san and held her out, holding her legs between his fingers. “Be very gentle with her, please. I’ve been taking care of her because her wing is hurt and she can’t fly.”

“Ah, that’s sad...” the girl said, but her eyes sparkled with joy as she gently petted the bird. Kotori-san looked this way and that with short twitches of her head.

Soujiro watched the girl, who seemed to have forgotten him entirely and just stared in wonderment at the little bird. But as he looked at her, his customary smile fell from his face. He hadn’t noticed it at first in the twilight, but now he could see there was a bruise around her left eye. Was that why she wouldn’t turn to him earlier? “What happened to your eye?” he asked, pointing to it.

“Ah!?” she looked up for a moment and then laughed nervously. “Oh, I fell.”

“Really? How?”

“I’m really clumsy...” she said. “So where are you going?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I guess I’ll know when I get there.”

“You’re lost, huh?”

“Sometimes I feel like I am, and sometimes I feel like I know right where to go, even if I don’t know where I’ll end up.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you a philosopher?”

“Me!?” He laughed. “No, no, my head’s just empty.” He tapped on his temple as if he could demonstrate an echo.

“You just talk so weird,” she said. “I thought you might be one. So you’re not staying here, though?” Kotori-san chirped and resituated her wings as the girl kept petting her.

“Well, I’d planned on leaving in the morning, but now I don’t know...” he said. The more he thought about it, he was sure the girl had been turning her head so he wouldn’t see the black eye. He knew how awkward she must feel; he’d done things that were just as implausible, a long time ago, so that people wouldn’t see the bruises... He’d barely met this girl, but he was finding that he didn’t want to leave her... “Maybe this town is where I was going.”

“So you’ll stay?” she asked excitedly. “Do you think I can see Kotori-san again?”

“Um... sure. I’ll come here again and wait for you in the morning; is that okay?”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you if I get here first.” She got up and poured the water over into her own bucket and picked it up with obvious effort. “Well, I better get home or my Dad’ll be really mad.”

“Ah, that’s best if you go home and get some rest,” he said. “Just, could you please tell me your name?”

“Ah, sorry!” she said. “I’m Inoue Tomi.”

Soujiro paused. “But, Tomi is...” Tomi was a masculine name. She did look and sound like a girl, but she was wearing boys’ clothes, and was young enough that she had a soft, flat chest and a light voice either way. Maybe...

“It’s a boy’s name, I know. I was going to be a boy, but it didn’t work out,” she said, starting down the street. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Good night Kotori-san!” the girl said. “Good night onii-san!”

“Good night!”

Soujiro sat and watched her until she was out of sight before getting up. The padded kimono had shifted, and he had to hold it with his free hand. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said to Kotori-san, who was falling asleep again in his hand. He carried her like that all the way back to the bridge across which he had entered the town and held her up from the ground as he crawled under it. Under the far end of the bridge, about a ten foot square of grassy bank sloped down to the water at a gentle angle that would make it a good place to sleep but a tight fit to get under. “Remind me not to hit my head in the morning, okay?” he said as he put Kotori-san down in the angle where the wooden walkway met the ground. “I just hope it doesn’t rain so much the water comes this high...”

He shrugged his small pack off his shoulder and lay down, curled up on his side, then bundled the padded kimono around himself, trying to get it into the warmest configuration possible. He was already half-asleep when he realized that he’d forgotten to get a drink as he’d planned, and it made him notice the empty ache in his stomach, but by then he was too sleepy to get up again for it, even for the ten feet down to the stream.

**********

 _  
**September 23**   
_

“Oy, Sano,” a man said, leaning in the doorway. “Don’t you have a friend named Himura?”

Sanosuke’s arm paused halfway through the dice-toss. “Yeah, Kenshin. Ginji, come on in and have a drink with us!”

“Ah, thanks,” he said, taking a seat among them. “I wanted to tell you, though, I heard someone walking around the street near the market calling for a ‘Himura-san.’ Seemed pretty unsteady, like he was real drunk or something.”

“Okay, okay,” Sano got to his feet. “I’ll go and check it out.”

“Hey, Ginji, did you arrange to bail Sano out once he started losing money?”

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ like that,” Sanosuke said. “I’ll be back soon as I can.” He stepped out the door and sighed. _I was really looking forward to a night with the guys, but some stranger looking for Kenshin... If this is another one of those guys out to settle some old score I’m gonna head it off._ He set off for the marketplace, listening closely for the voice.

“Where is Himura-san?” someone said before they came into view, as they came toward Sano from a sidestreet.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you right to him,” came another voice.

Sano leaned somewhat bemusedly against the wall by the opening of the sidestreet as a total stranger emerged from it, looking over his shoulder as if leading someone.

“Is that true?” said the first voice; its owner hadn’t yet come into view, but his voice sounded vaguely familiar.

“Offhand, I’d say no,” Sano answered.

“What the—” the self-styled guide whipped around.

“Ah! I... I forgot your name.”

Sano looked over as the second figure emerged into the streetlights. “Ah!!” For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Seta Soujiro!?” _Carrying a kid...?_

The stranger glanced nervously between them for a moment, then lunged at Soujiro, trying to punch him; Soujiro dodged aside and under the blow, easily but unsteadily, like the “drunken” martial-art styles. Sano effortlessly positioned his fist in the path of the man’s face and threw a punch that knocked him across the street.

“Name’s Sagara Sanosuke,” he said, turning.

“Ah, that’s right!” Soujiro set the child, a girl, down against the wall of the alley and straightened up with effort, smiling at Sanosuke. “Thank you! Not to seem ungrateful, but I have to ask you to do something for me, since I know you’re Himura-san’s friend.”

“Tell me what it is, then I’ll tell you if I’ll do it,” Sano answered. _Surely he knows Shishio’s dead by now. Is he out for revenge for his teacher? He didn’t seem that way last I saw him, but..._

“Sagara-san, please protect Tomi-chan for me. Don’t let the police or anyone take her away from you.”

“Huh?” Sano looked down at the girl. She’d been sleeping and was just starting to move and look around blearily. “Uh, sure. Why?”

“I don’t think I can do it anymore,” Soujiro replied, resting his shoulder against the wall. “Ahh, thank you so much for this! I feel better now...”

Sanosuke barely had time to exchange glances with the little girl before realizing that Soujiro’s shoulder was sliding down the wall. Sano snatched him up as he collapsed, and found the back of his kimono wet and sticky. Sano lifted a hand and found it moistened with blood. “Hey!” he cried, shaking Soujiro and getting no response. “Hey, don’t you dare show up here just to die on me!”

“He’s not going to die!” Tomi cried, obviously shaken as she grabbed onto Soujiro. “Onii-chan, tell him! You’re not going to die!”

Sano gently eased him down and forward, looking at his back. A distressing amount of blood had soaked through his clothes, but the actual wound appeared to be in the shoulder, not in a place that should make it immediately fatal. “Tomi, right?” he asked, looking up at her. “He’s not gonna die, all right? I have a friend who’s a doctor. I’ll carry him there, it’s not too far. Think you can follow me okay?”

She nodded hesitantly.

He situated Soujiro in his arms and stood. “Okay, come on.”

One of Soujiro’s hands dangled from Sanosuke’s arms, and Tomi took it and walked along with them.

**********

 _  
**April 5**   
_

The bridge was made to be a floor, not a roof, so the rain dripped through it, little by little through the night. Soujiro was doing his best to sleep despite the cold water and bundled up the padded kimono even over his head, not so much to keep him warm as to keep the water from dripping onto his face and startling him awake. Still, a shallow, exhausted dozing was the best he could manage. He’d have to find somewhere to get warm and dry off in the morning or he’d end up sick.

Even at night, occasionally footsteps thudded across the bridge, most of them running to get out of the rain. Occasionally they would speak, but all Soujiro heard were snatches of voice moving by or drowned out in the rain, barely enough to pull him back from half-sleep. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes when he was roused by hoofbeats and the heavy rumble of carriage wheels across the bridge, but listened drowsily as the sound stopped right above him, and the horses neighed and stomped.

A voice was drowned out in a boom of thunder, but the end of its message was shouted clearly, even through the rain. “—Or we kill you!”

At that, Soujiro bolted up—and hit the bottom of the bridge with a loud _thunk!_ He held his head, but he knew he couldn’t stop for that...

“What was that?” someone said.

“There’s somebody under the bridge!”

“You! Take care of it!”

Soujiro listened for the first footstep, and by the time the man had dropped down to look under the bridge, he was up the other side, leaving nothing to find but a soaked kimono and a little bird.

Above, a wagon was stopped on the bridge, with fidgetting horses harnessed to the front and a few terrorized men standing at the back of it and the driver’s seat. Several more men stood around it, with scarves around their heads to hide their faces and brandishing swords. Soujiro had come up no more than a yard from one of them, whose sword-sheath at his belt had laces hanging free. It took the man a moment to react, even after it whipped out of his belt by those laces, and he barely began to bring his sword around for an attack before Soujiro lay it beside the base of his neck with enough force to knock him senseless to the ground.

“Who the hell is that guy!?”

“I don’t care who he is, kill him!”

After years of battles as one of the Juppon Gatana, Soujiro was amazed at how clumsy they were. He could see through them before he was even in their reach, and he dodged easily around their botched attacks and knocked them down with the sheath one after another, the sharp edges of their swords never even coming close enough to feel dangerous.

“What’s going on up there??” called the man who’d gone down to look under the bridge, raising his head. Seeing all his partners laying unconscious and Soujiro alone standing among them, he stumbled back and fled.

Soujiro listened for another long moment to see if there were more of them. Hearing only the rain, he tossed his borrowed weapon aside. It seemed odd to him that everything kept standing still as he pushed his drenched hair out of his face and looked back at the wagon. “I think it’s okay, you can go on now.”

One of the men at the back of the wagon stepped away from it and took Soujiro’s hand with both of his own; they were in gloves, and so large that Soujiro’s hand felt smothered between them, but with the battle over, he was too sleepy to protest. “Thank you so much!” the man said, shaking his hand firmly. “We’re saved!”

“It’s nothing,” Soujiro said blearily and tried to wander off without retrieving his hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to bed.”

“You were sleeping under the bridge?” the man asked, letting go.

“Mm hm.”

He paused with surprise. “You could catch your death of cold that way, and after saving my business! The least I can do to show my gratitude is get you a room.”

“It’s too late, all the inns are closed for the night.”

“Get you indoors at least. Come on.”

“Just a minute.” Soujiro eased himself under the bridge and emerged again a few moments later with his pack over his shoulder, his soaked kimono over one arm, and Kotori-san in the other hand.

The men looked quizzically at the bird in his hand even as they helped him up into the wagon. As it rumbled on into the town, he curiously lifted the lid of a box sitting next to him, and found it completely full of money. “Wow. No wonder someone tried to rob you.”

“Well, it’s unavoidable,” one of the men said nervously, gently putting the lid back on the box and sitting on it. “You see, we’re starting a bank in this town...”

“Oh, is that so...?” Soujiro asked, but he had already closed his eyes and tilted his head back. That wasn’t the last thing that happened before he fell asleep, but he was too tired to remember it all later.

**********

 _  
**September 23**   
_

“Is that Tomi-dono?” Kenshin asked as Sanosuke followed him up the walkway to Dr. Genzai’s clinic. The girl was sitting on the step, with Ayame and Suzume beside her, and she was showing them a loose string of beads she was wearing as a bracelet. Tomi looked about seven years old, with a short ponytail of marmalade-brown hair and sad brown eyes.

“Yup, that’s her. She’s pretty shaken up, but she’s been doing better since Megumi told her he’d pull through,” Sano said. “I heard her call him ‘Onii-chan.’ Guess he really has turned his life around.”

“Ah,” Kenshin nodded, smiling at the trio of children. He said “Good morning!” to them as he stepped up and into the clinic.

Megumi had been sitting beside the bed, and she rose and crossed the room to meet Kenshin and Sanosuke. Kenshin recognized Soujiro immediately. Even as he lay unconscious, there was a slight smile on his face.

“How is he?” Kenshin asked softly.

“He’s been shot in the shoulder,” Megumi replied, also in a hushed tone. “It broke his shoulder blade, but somehow the bullet didn’t go all the way through. Dr. Genzai and I had to remove it surgically, and of course he’s lost a lot of blood. He won’t be able to use his left arm for awhile, but as long as it doesn’t get infected, he should be fine with some rest. He’s sleeping normally now.

“Ken-san, is this really the strongest of Shishio’s Ten Swords, who gave you that scar on your back? Sanosuke told me so, but it seems so hard to believe...”

“Yes, that’s him,” Kenshin said, walking softly over to the bed. He could see where it would be hard to believe. Soujiro looked so peaceful laying there, with his head turned just slightly to one side, his black-brown hair brushing softly over his forehead and onto the pillow. Quietly, Kenshin eased himself down into the chair beside the bed. “I’ll wait here until he wakes up.”

“Say, Kenshin,” Sano said. “What do you think he’s doing here, anyway?”

“Arriving with this injury and asking you to protect Tomi-dono, I’d say he’s in some sort of trouble and came here for help.”

“Seems kinda weird after before, with Shishio and all.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Dammit, Kenshin! I’m just saying be a little careful about him!”

Soujiro moaned softly, roused by the noise. He began to turn over, but at shifting weight onto his wounded shoulder, he sprang up from the bed, rolling diagonally up and away from them. As he came to rest sitting up, the blankets fell away to reveal his left arm in a sling.

Megumi was there on the other side of the bed. “Calm down,” she told him. “There’s a broken bone in your shoulder, don’t jostle it.”

Soujiro became still, gingerly touching his shoulder, and looked at her eye-to-eye. His eyes were wide and bright, sapphire-blue with a childlike, curious openness that made “Tenken no Soujiro” even more unbelievable. “You’re the doctor?” he said, but not with the skepticism she often heard as a woman in the field. Then his focus backed off just the width of a hair, the difference between looking into her eyes and looking at the reflections in their surfaces.

He turned to face Kenshin, as quickly as he could while being careful not to turn across the shoulders.

“Hello, Soujiro,” Kenshin said. “It’s been a long time.”

Soujiro didn’t answer, just stared at Kenshin for a long moment, his mouth slack and unsmiling, before he lowered his eyes, like lowering a curtain behind which he could think. _Police at the inn... I remember running... Tomi-chan! No, she was okay, but... broken bone? It must have been so close..._ And back at the inn, who knew what had happened? Ojisan and Obachan, they could be in jail right now... His eyes felt hot with tears, a sensation alien to him for ten years, and now so familiar, ever since...

“Soujiro?” Kenshin ducked slightly to look at him under the veil of his bangs.

With all his old speed, Soujiro brought his right hand around, open, and struck Kenshin across the face with a loud SMACK. It sent them recoiling in opposite directions as Kenshin rolled with the blow and Soujiro cringed from disturbing his injured shoulder.

“Oy! What was that all about!?” Sano demanded.

“It’s okay.” Kenshin rubbed his reddened cheek. “I was responsible for the death of your mentor and the people close to you. If you just want to hit me for that, I can’t say it’s unfair.”

Soujiro shook his head. “It isn’t that. I know why you had to fight Shishio-san. I do miss him sometimes, but actually, thinking about it now, I’m glad you won. But, even though I know it’s better now, it’s just that before, I was never like this...” His voice was breaking as he sobbed into his right hand. “And then waking up and seeing you...”

“I understand,” Kenshin said. Who hadn’t dreamed of a chance to go their whole life without crying? Soujiro, who had that chance, seemed to have really learned that such a wish shouldn’t come true, but that wouldn’t make it an easy thing to let go, face-to-face with the person who’d taken it from him.

“Now hey!” Sanosuke protested. “Where do you get off talking like you got taken by surprise!? You’re the one who showed up here looking for Kenshin!”

“I did?”

“You sure as _hell_ did! I found you calling for him in the street last night, remember?”

Soujiro paused a moment, sniffled, and shook his head.

“You can’t expect someone to remember everything that happened when they were exhausted and had lost as much blood as Soujiro did,” Megumi said.

Sano sat back in a huff and looked at the door, where he could see the girls playing outside. Tomi peeked in, and smiled to see Soujiro awake. _I remember my promise_ , Sano thought, _even if you don’t._

“Are you angry at me?” Kenshin asked Soujiro.

He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry I hit you.”

“That’s all right,” Kenshin replied, despite the makings of a bruise on the left side of his face. “But then, if you were looking for me, were you coming here for help?”

Since Soujiro had no memory of the idea, it struck him afresh as a bolt of hope. Certainly his situation was desperate enough, with Tomi and everyone in danger. He couldn’t run away with her now, with his shoulder broken by a gunshot that almost—no, don’t think about that—and somehow he had to know what had happened to Ojisan and Obachan. “Yes! Please!”

“Tell me, what happened?”

**********

 _  
**April 5**   
_

Soujiro woke gradually to a general working sound going on outside the door—footsteps and shuffling and scraping and an occasional bell. He was laying alone in an office with a fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, and his clothes were laid out near the fire; as he woke up more and more, he remembered putting them there to dry. He got up and dressed, and was just tying on his hakama when he heard a tapping sound—Kotori-san was outside on the window sill, pecking at the glass.

As he looked up at her, he suddenly realized that the sun was already high in the sky. After the rough night, he’d overslept. “Oh, no, Tomi-san...” He snatched up his pack and his padded kimono and left the room, pausing only slightly to find the exit of the building.

The man who’d thanked him that night was still there, in a western suit and a bowler hat. “Oh, you’re awake! I—”

“I’m sorry, I have to leave now. Thanks for letting me stay,” Soujiro said quickly, running out the door.

He skirted the building and picked Kotori-san up off the windowsill, then ran down the street to the well. Miraculously the girl was still there, with her bucket of water beside her; she was leaning the injured side of her face against the well. He could see her more clearly in the daylight; she had a full round face and marmalade-brown hair tied back in a short ponytail, and in the light her skin and her boyish clothes looked even more accustomed to rough treatment.

She raised her head as he got closer; the bruise around her eye was more distinct in the daylight, too. “Here you are! I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry, I slept late,” he said, sitting down beside her and putting Kotori-san down on the step between them.

Tomi petted the little bird, but then her face darkened and she looked up at him. “Hey! I told you my name, but you didn’t tell me yours.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“It’s Soujiro.”

“That’s all? What’s your family name?”

Soujiro thought for a moment. No matter how far behind they seemed to be, the police were on his trail somewhere. No reason to make himself too obvious... “I don’t have any family.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Tomi turned back to Kotori-san for just a few more moments. “I have to go home now or I won’t get everything done,” she said, getting up.

“I’ll come and help you. It’s only fair, since I held you up,” he said, picking up the bucket before she did. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to be, and he was curious to see where Tomi lived.

“Okay,” she said, and started off. She led him out of the town and down a path into some surrounding woods, and finally to a clearing with a small, tumbledown house. A small cart sat by the path, tilted on its single set of wheels, and a chopping block and axe stood in the yard. The chopped wood lay around in the grass, along with cut-off twigs and bits of junk. An old, thin horse was tied to a corner of the house, eating feed off the ground. Tomi took the bucket of water and poured it into a half-barrel beside the horse.

“I’ll do the laundry because that’s the girl stuff,” Tomi said. “Dad told me if I was going to be a girl, I should do it all the way. And you can pick up all this wood and put it on the wagon. If that’s okay, I mean.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile.

She started into the house, then paused and turned around. “Oh, and if you hear Dad coming, you might want to hide. I haven’t told him about you and he doesn’t like strangers.”

“He won’t see me,” Soujiro said.

Tomi disappeared into the house before looking out one more time. “Thank you!”

Stacking wood was easy, and Soujiro had it done before noon. Thinking about it, however, he could see where it would’ve been a difficult job for Tomi by herself. She would probably have to climb up on the wagon to do it, where he was tall enough just to reach over the sides, and of course he could carry more than she could. By the time he was finished, though, his body felt weak, and he was keenly aware that he hadn’t eaten since that time the day before. Living on the road, he’d become easygoing about when he ate and where he slept, but this was extreme.

Kotori-san hopped around in the yard, pulling up earthworms. “Sorry I haven’t fed you since yesterday,” Soujiro said, but his stomach felt too empty to know how much of the feeling was hunger and how much was guilt. “Tomi-san?” he called. “How about lunch?”

“Well, the laundry’s not done yet, and I’d have to cook...” she said, coming to the door.

“No, I meant going to town for lunch.”

“I don’t have any money,” she said.

“It’s okay, I can pay for it.”

Tomi made some show of considering it. “Well, the clothes will probably be cleaner if they sit in the water for awhile anyway,” she said, coming out. “Wow, you’re done already? That’d take me all afternoon!”

“Things like that get easier as you get bigger,” he said, starting back toward the town. “My Dad used to tell me, ‘I can move a hundred bags of rice in a day, why can’t you?’ but he didn’t realize it was hard for me because I was a kid then. I could probably do it now.” _Why am I talking about this...?_

“My Dad’s just the same way,” Tomi said with a laugh. “He always says ‘I work hard all day so we’ll have something to eat and you just sit back here while I do all the hard work and you still can’t keep up!’” she affected a gruff voice. “But I really do try to do everything. I normally keep going every minute. I think parents are just like that.”

“No, I don’t think they all are, just some,” Soujiro said.

“Well, I hope I grow up soon so I can do it all,” she said.

“So does your Dad let you sleep in the house before you finish?”

“Well, yes, but he gets mad...” She looked away from him and didn’t say any more until they got to town. “Have you ever had lobster?” she asked.

“A few times. I think it was good but I like just about everything.”

“I never have and I always wanted to try it.”

He saw what she was trying to say. “Well, I don’t have money for that right now...”

“It’s okay. I don’t get to eat out hardly at all, so I think I like just about everything, too.”

In the end, he was so hungry he took Tomi to the first place to eat they came to, a small outdoor stand, and asked for whatever would be ready most quickly. It was just cheap noodles, but it tasted wonderful, and Tomi seemed very pleased also as they sat outside and ate in the cool spring air. They both enjoyed watching Kotori-san peck at the noodles they set out for her, like she’d pecked for worms in Tomi’s yard..

“Ah, there you are! Sir!”

Soujiro didn’t even imagine he was being addressed until he saw the man from the bank coming toward him. “I finally found you!” he said.

“Um, can I do something for you?” Soujiro asked. Tomi abruptly turned her bruised eye away.

“Well, you left in such a hurry this morning, I wasn’t able to give you this small token of my gratitude,” the banker said, handing him an envelope. “You can open it now, if you like(4).”

“It was really nothing. Thank you very much,” he said, opening it.

Tomi looked over his shoulder, and again she forgot about hiding her black eye to stare at the gift. “Wow! That’s a lot of money! I guess we could have the lobster tomorrow, huh?”

“Well, I have to be kind of careful, I don’t know when I’ll get more money after this,” Soujiro said.

“Um, about that... there was something else I wanted to ask you.” The man fiddled with his bowler hat just a bit. “I’ve talked it over with my business partners, and we’d appreciate it if you’d come to work for us, guarding the bank at night. So, how does that sound?”

Soujiro took a moment to wrap his mind around the question. “Um... I don’t know...”

Tomi tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, it’d be great! You’d have a job and you could stay here. You want to find out if this is where you were going, right? And we could be friends!”

He thought about it a bit more. Staying in this town, having a job... It sounded like a ‘normal life.’ At any rate, it was something he’d never done before, and it sounded interesting. And just when he’d begun to think that kenjutsu wasn’t useful in ‘real life’! “All right, I will.”

“Splendid! Please, come to the bank around sunset tonight. I appreciate this very much!” The man started away, but turned over his shoulder. “That money should be plenty to rent a room, but if you need more, just come to the bank and talk to me, all right?”

“All right,” Soujiro said. He waved numbly for a moment before what had happened began to dawn on him. “Thank you very much!” he called.

 _to be continued..._

Footnotes:

1\. Onii-chan means “older brother,” but can also be an affectionate term of address from a child to a young man. “Onee-chan” is the feminine equivalent.

2\. “Ojisan” and “Obachan” mean “Uncle” and “Auntie” respectively. They are also used as terms of address for older men and women.

3\. "Kawaii": "Cute!"

4\. At least according to my reading, it’s customary in Japan not to open a gift immediately unless the giver tells you it’s okay; doing so is considered to appear greedy.


	2. Changing Leaves, part 2

Changing Leaves  
Part Two

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2002

*

 _**September 23** _

“I didn’t know you had family,” Kenshin said.

“They like to be called that. Reiko-san actually insisted I call her ‘Obachan.’ Tomi-chan took to it easier than I did. They’re not related to me, but they’re more like family than anyone I ever knew. They’ve been so nice... I told them to tell the police I made them keep me there, but they could still be arrested for helping me...” Soujiro said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed, since it put everyone in danger... But when the police came, what could I do? I didn’t want to fight with them and make trouble, so I just took Tomi-chan and ran. I don’t remember what happened after that.”

“So is Tomi their granddaughter or something? Why take her?” Sanosuke asked. He knew there was more to it—Soujiro had made him promise to keep her away from the police, after all—but wasn’t letting on what he knew.

Soujiro paused awkwardly. “She’s an orphan who was travelling with me. I guess since I’m such a serious criminal, they thought I kidnapped her, but if they take her, she really doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

“I see,” Kenshin said.

“If all this happened last night in Yokohama, the police won’t be far behind you,” Megumi pointed out.

“I know,” Soujiro said, “and I couldn’t cover my tracks this time like usual. If it was just me, I could keep going, but with Tomi-chan, and my shoulder like this...”

“Are you ready to be up and about?” Kenshin asked.

“He should keep getting plenty of rest, but yes,” Megumi said.

“Then you and Tomi-dono come back to Kamiya dojo with me. I’ll do everything I can to keep your family safe.”

Soujiro turned to him with a broad, bright-eyed smile. “Thank you! I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

Kenshin caught the same smile—nothing like the old Tenken smile. “It’s no trouble. If Hitokiri Battousai can start a new life with friends and family, surely Tenken no Soujiro can, too.”

Megumi helped Soujiro out of bed, and they followed Kenshin and Sanosuke out the door. As Soujiro emerged from the clinic, Tomi immediately ran to him and clung to his right arm. “Onii-chan, feeling better now?” she asked hopefully.

“Better, but not all the way,” he said. Tomi made a pouting face. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll be okay. I just need some rest, and don’t touch my other arm, okay?”

“Okay!” She turned to Ayame and Suzume, who offered their greetings. “These are my new friends.”

“Are you going to Kaoru-oneechan’s?” Ayame asked Kenshin, who nodded.

“I wanna go too!” Suzume called.

“Go ask your grandfather if it’s all right,” Megumi said, sending them scurrying off. Without the other girls to divert her, Tomi hugged Soujiro around the waist.

“I’ll go on ahead and tell Kaoru-dono we’re all coming,” Kenshin said.

Megumi and Sanosuke both glanced at Soujiro before assenting, but with him there holding Tomi’s shoulders, they didn’t see anything to contradict Kenshin’s judgement of safety.

**********

 _**April 6** _

Soujiro sprang up so quickly at the loud noise that he knocked the alarm clock over, and it rang with a flattened sound and crawled vibrating across the floor. He picked it up and turned it off, then looked around the room—his own room, furnished with everything he’d bought the day before. Some of it looked a little strange, as the building was Western in style, but Tomi had loved fiddling with the doorknob and peering through the keyhole and the paned windows. She had taken the decorating in hand as well, and had still been trying to pick out a vase to go on the table when the sun was setting and he had to go to the bank.

“I guess I wasn’t dreaming,” Soujiro said to himself, smiling brightly.

Kotori-san sang and hopped across the floor after him as he paced back and forth, getting dressed. “I’m almost ready. I’ll get you something to eat soon,” he said as he finally picked her up. She situated her wings and grew quiet as he tucked her in his kimono again, then picked up Tomi’s new ball and his old stuffed horse and set out.

On his way out he noticed the horse and cart from Tomi’s house in the marketplace, and a man standing beside it, calling for people to buy the wood. _So that’s her father..._ Without quite knowing why, he stayed on the opposite side of the street until the cart was far behind him.

As promised, he bought lunch, and met Tomi in the meadow across the bridge—the same one he’d tried to sleep under two nights before—and they ate sitting in the soft green grass, then played catch with the ball for some time, Kotori-san watching from a low tree branch where Soujiro set her.

“Wow, you’re good!” Tomi said. “You don’t look like you’re even paying attention, and you’re only using one hand!”

“Oh, I guess I do,” Soujiro said. He realized that he had just been catching the ball out of the air with his right hand without any thought. “Well, I’ll try with my left hand, I’m not quite as good with it.”

“Yeah, my left arm isn’t doing so great today either,” Tomi said. “I fell again last night and bruised it up. See?” She pulled back her sleeve and showed him a dark bruise wrapped around her arm, just above the elbow.

“I’m sorry. It’s because I kept you so late yesterday, isn’t it?” Soujiro came over and knelt next to her to look at it.

“Well, I just fell, really. I mean, you saw my yard. There’s lots of stuff to trip over.”

“I know, I just meant... you know, you couldn’t see because it was getting dark, right? So you tripped over something.”

“Yeah. It was worth it though, yesterday. I never got to do anything like that, you know.”

**********

 _**September 23** _

“Oy, Kenshin!” Sanosuke stormed after him once they were out of earshot of the clinic. “Is it really a good idea to leave him with Megumi and the kids!?”

“You didn’t have to come with me.”

Sano glared.

“I think he means what he says about why he’s here. It’s as if... When it rains, it pours, I suppose. His emotional state radiates from him—it’s even less concealed than with a normal person. I don’t believe he could affect that.”

“So it makes him a crummy liar,” Sano said. “Can’t argue with that—like how he lied about where he picked up Tomi-chan.”

“Yes,” Kenshin agreed. “But she also makes me believe his story, for the most part. Her affection for him is certainly genuine.”

“I still wanna know what he’s hiding.”

Kenshin nodded. “But I believe he was telling the truth when he asked for help, and I’m sure he isn’t dangerous.” He had come to the gate of the dojo and pushed it open. “Tadaima.”

Kaoru came running from the dojo to meet him, but stopped short. “Okaeri! —Kenshin? Your face...”

“Ah, yeah...” He gingerly touched the black-and-blue handprint Soujiro had left.

“Yeah, he got fresh with some girl in town,” Sano said, curious how sarcastic a tone he could use before Kaoru would refuse to take the bait.

Not enough yet—she whipped around to face him, huffing angrily. “Sanosuke!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he said, paused a moment for effect—“Actually it was a guy did that.”

Kaoru started back from him with a terrified squeak.

“It’s not like that!” Kenshin assured her.

**********

 _**April 17** _

When supper was done and Tomi had gotten out of the pink flowered furisode(5) and into her worn kimono and hakama, Soujiro draped a towel on her shoulder and set about wiping the salve off her face with a damp cloth. He wished he could leave it on overnight, to heal the bruises faster, but she’d already gone home to some dangerous questions about “what she’d gotten into.” Bad enough that the smell would probably linger... “There, I think I got it,” he said. He picked up Kotori-san and put her in her birdcage before he opened the window and tossed the bowl of washwater down to the alley two stories below.

Tomi had sat down, cuddling her cloth doll to her chest. “So I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

“Of course. You see me every day, right?” She snuggled the doll fretfully, and he crouched beside her and held her with one arm—his sword-arm—around her back. “Is something wrong? Do you think you’ll be okay?”

“Well, could I walk to the bank with you?” she asked.

“Okay.”

“And could I take my dolly?”

“Well, it’s okay with me, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea...” If her father threatened her over a smear of salve, Soujiro didn’t want to imagine his reaction to any of the toys for her that were scattered around his apartment.

“I mean take her just on the walk and then have you hold her for me.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he said, crossing to the door. Tomi rose and scampered after him as he opened the door for her and then closed and locked it behind them.

All the way to the bank, Tomi held Soujiro’s hand with one hand and her doll with the other—she never let the doll dangle by an arm like he saw some girls do, but always held it close against her body. Even up the bank’s front steps, she clung to his hand, and she stayed there silently as he paused at the door. “I have to go to work now,” he said softly.

Tomi squeezed his hand and paused. “Do you think maybe I could stay? Maybe just a little bit, even?”

Soujiro thought he should’ve been prepared for her to ask that some evening, but he wasn’t. It felt like getting in over his head—if he said “yes” to this, how long could it be before Tomi wanted to live with him all the time? But then, would that really be so bad? Here with her he felt happy, a deep, satisfying happiness that Tenken no Soujiro could not have experienced, and the pleasance and newness of it never failed to dazzle him. And if he said no, he of all people knew the monster he would be throwing her to...

“Well, I can ask my boss if it’s okay,” he said.

Even as he said it, the door opened heavily, and the portly banker started slightly at seeing the two of them. Tomi immediately collapsed her shoulders so that she could hide her bruised cheek against herself.

“Ah, Soujiro. It’s time for your shift to start,” the man said.

“Just a minute,” Soujiro said.

As he turned to Tomi, she let go of him and placed the doll in his hand. “Good night!” she cried, and ran down the steps to the street, toward her house.

“Good night! Take care!” Soujiro called after her and waved, although he was a little confused. _The banker scared her away...?_

“Come on inside,” the man said, ushering him in the door and closing it behind them. Only a few employees were still finishing off their day’s work, at some distance. “Actually,” the banker said, a little awkwardly, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that little girl. I’ve seen you with her quite often since you came here.”

“Yes, we’re good friends,” Soujiro said, trying to think what the point of this might be. He started and held up his hands. “I didn’t hit her, I promise!”

“I know you didn’t,” the man replied. “Things have been that way with her for a lot longer than you’ve been in town. It’s just that... Well, you’ve been doing a wonderful job here. You have a lot ahead of you right now, and I hate to see you make trouble for yourself.”

“Trouble?” Soujiro questioned.

“Getting involved in something that isn’t your business,” he said.

“But Tomi’s my friend. How could she not be my business?”

The banker sighed. “Listen, I know you want to help her, but she’s her father’s concern. You can’t go prying into other people’s family affairs.”

“So because he’s her father, whatever he wants to do with her is all right?” Soujiro asked. He remembered himself, not much younger than Tomi was now—all the times he had tried to run from the family he could never appease, from all the beatings and the screams that, whatever words were used, always reached his ears as ‘I will never love you,’ no matter how desperately or humbly he might beg. Every time he tried to escape, he risked being caught and berated and sorely punished all over again, but a few times, he had managed to get away—and then kind, well-intentioned people had picked him up with gentle hands, and brought him back to that house, and thrown him back into that hell, because ‘you can’t go prying into other people’s family affairs.’ If Tomi escaped, and ran to him... “I can’t agree with that,” he said.

“I’m not sure I agree with it, either,” the banker conceded, getting his suitcoat and bowler hat from the coat-tree. “But if you get in this over your head, it’ll make trouble for you, no matter how good your intentions are.”

“I understand,” Soujiro said.

“Well, good night.” He put on his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Soujiro replied, seeing him out the door as he left Soujiro alone in the darkened bank.

 _“If you get in this over your head, it’ll make trouble for you.” Well, why should I worry about that, anyway?_ Soujiro thought. Surely making trouble for him was like throwing water in the ocean.

He realized he still had the doll in his hand, and tucked it inside his kimono to rest against his chest.

**********

 _**September 23** _

Yahiko and Sanosuke watched from a corner of the yard as Megumi led Soujiro in, surrounded by the little girls, and Kaoru greeted them. “That’s really Tenken no Soujiro?” Yahiko asked.

“Yup,” Sano answered.

Soujiro was talking to Kaoru, their voices soft over the distance. “Actually, could I lie down for awhile? The walk made me a little dizzy, since...”

“Oh, yes. Kenshin’s already inside getting a bed ready.”

“And he stood up against Kenshin?” Yahiko asked.

Sanosuke nodded. “And he spent most of the fight holding back. He couldn’t beat Kenshin’s succession technique, but... If he’d gone all out from the start, Kenshin would’ve been in real trouble.”

Yahiko set his jaw in a privately defiant gesture. Kenshin would’ve won anyway, he was certain of it.

“It’d be boring for you just to watch me sleep, wouldn’t it?” Soujiro was telling the new girl standing with Ayame and Suzume in the yard. “It’s fine with me if you want to stay and play with your new friends.”

“Yeah, come play with us!” Suzume echoed.

“Okay. Sleep tight!” the new girl said, then went to join the other two as Soujiro took off his waraji by the door and followed Megumi inside, leaving Kaoru to watch them.

“Tomi-chan there came with him,” Sanosuke told Yahiko. “Whatever trouble he’s in, she’s in it with him. I just wish I knew why.”

“Gonna find out?” Yahiko asked.

“Damn straight.”

Ayame had started blowing bubbles with a straw, and Suzume chased them around, trying to catch them with her hands before they popped against anything else. Tomi just followed them and watched, staring in fascination as one attached itself to a blade of grass and swirled colors for a few moments, then burst.

**********

 _**April 21** _

Tomi pressed her ear against the door to the apartment. Soujiro hadn’t met her by the bridge, and when she knocked and called at his door, he didn’t answer. But with her ear to the door now, she could hear footsteps coming, and she stood back. Slowly, it was unlatched and opened, but it wasn’t until she slipped inside that she could see Soujiro. His shoulders sagged, and he kept his head lowered and his eyes out of view.

“Onii-chan? Are you okay?”

He pushed the heel of his hand against his face. “Kotori-san died...” he managed, with a broken voice.

Tomi hugged his elbow, and with his sleeve in her right hand she pulled him over to a zabuton. With another pull, she nudged him into sitting; by now he was sobbing in earnest. Looking at the birdcage, she could see what had to be Kotori-san’s body, wrapped up in Soujiro’s handkerchief. She sat down beside him and leaned her head against his chest and hugged him.

“I wanted to help her...” Soujiro wailed between gasps. “But I... I left her out and the window open... That has to be what I did... And she couldn’t fly yet... It’s so stupid!” he cried. “It’s like I killed her myself!” At that, his voice broke apart completely and caught in his throat, and he convulsed with sobbing as if choking for breath against that blockage.

“No!” Tomi could hardly hear herself over his crying, and waited until he fell to catching his breath with trembling gasps. “I know it’s not like that,” she said. “You were always nice to Kotori-san, and she liked you. She knows you just made a mistake. I’m sure she’s not mad.”

“How could she think anything!? She’s dead!” Soujiro moaned.

“She was such a nice bird, I’m sure she’s in Heaven,” Tomi said. “Like my Dad always says my Mommy is in Heaven, so now she’s there with Kotori-san, and if they’re looking now, Kotori-san wouldn’t want you to feel so bad.”

“But it’s really my fault...”

Tomi shook her head. “You didn’t mean to.”

Soujiro gathered up his knees and rested his arms on them. _I didn’t mean to turn into a killer or hurt anyone... I wish that made me innocent, but it doesn’t..._ And then when he found Kotori-san... Surely someone who would nurse an injured bird back to health couldn’t be totally bad(6), but now... He buried his face in his arms as the sobs tightened his throat again, pushing his breath through his voice into loud coughing cries.

He lost himself in his tears so much that he only gradually became aware of Tomi shaking his shoulder. “Onii-chan! Please look up! Please?” When he raised his head and looked at her, her eyes were wide with fear and concern.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to scare you.” He unfolded himself and started to hug her.

“Ow!”

“What?” Soujiro immediately released her and sat back to see her holding her left arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it just hurts...”

 _Kotori-san’s broken wing..._ Soujiro thought. _Surely anyone who would help something like that can’t be all bad... Surely..._ “Let me look at it,” he said, still with sniffles although the tears were fading back. “We’ll put some medicine on it, if it’s just a bruise or something.”

“Okay.”

He got up and gently sat her on the zabuton, and she shrugged off one shoulder of the kimono to show a dark bruise around her upper arm. He got the salve and bandages and carefully rubbed the medicine on the livid skin; even after this, she was soft and velvety as a flower petal. “How did this happen?” he asked.

“Oh, um, I accidentally closed a door on it.”

“Oh, I see.” With overlapping wraps of a bandage, Soujiro concealed an inch at a time of the irregular bruise. It was just clear enough to suggest a handprint.

“When I get my kimono on, we can take Kotori-san to the forest and bury her, like a real funeral,” Tomi said.

“Yes. That would be good.”

Once the bandage was secure, Tomi got the pink flowered kimono and Soujiro helped her put it on and tie the obi in a plump blow that rested in the curve of her back. He took Kotori-san’s cloth-wrapped body out of her cage with trembling hands, and he and Tomi left the apartment. At Tomi’s behest, they stopped and bought some incense, then went outside the town, into the trees where the other birds were singing. They buried Kotori-san at the foot of a tree, placed a large rock on the spot for a tombstone, and Tomi picked flowers and lay them on it.

As Soujiro lit the incense, she pressed her hands together in front of her chest. “Goodbye, Kotori-san. I hope you’re watching us from Heaven with my Mommy and that you can say hi to her for me. It’s sad that you died, but it was fun having you here, and thank you for bringing Soujiro-oniichan.”

It was true, wasn’t it? Soujiro remembered the first night he’d come to this town, Tomi had been fascinated at first by Kotori-san, not him. That was how he’d first seen the black eye, and why Tomi had wanted to meet him again. “Yes, Kotori-san. Wherever you are now, I hope things go well for you. And thank you so much for showing me where I was going.” He made a deep bow before the little grave.

Tomi took his wrist and pressed her face against his arm, crying for the first time that day. Soujiro was sure she had held back her own tears to help him, and it touched him with a feeling much like sadness, but somehow precious and sweet.

**********

 _**September 23** _

Kenshin sat beside the futon, vigilantly watching Soujiro sleep as if he might be able to read his dreams from the twitches of his face. His smile was such a deeply-formed habit that it tinged his mouth a happy color even in his sleep, but once or twice Kenshin had seen his eyebrows tend downward as if in distraught concern. Unfortunate that he had so much to be concerned about, but in a broader way, Kenshin was happy for him, indeed happy for a world in which Tenken no Soujiro could become sincere and caring.

He looked up at a slight sound from the doorway and saw Tomi standing there, carefully silent. He could see her plainly wanting to come in, but afraid of disturbing Soujiro’s sleep. Quietly he rose and walked over to the doorway to stand beside her. “He’s still sleeping, and still all right,” Kenshin whispered.

“But...”

“His injuries will heal, and he’s just a bit worried about you and your Ojisan and Obachan.”

She gave a tiny nod and turned back to look at Soujiro.

“You and Soujiro are very close, aren’t you, Tomi-dono?”

“He’s my best friend ever,” Tomi said.

Kenshin sat down on the floor just across the hallway, at an angle where he could still see Soujiro through the door. “Could I talk with you?” He patted the floor beside him.

Tomi tiptoed across the hall and sat down in the offered space. “Are you Soujiro-oniichan’s friend, too? He came to this town calling for you.”

Kenshin considered the question for a moment. “I did my best to help Soujiro once before, and I’ll do my best to help both of you now. But I’m wondering, could you tell me how you met Soujiro and came to be here with him?”

“Well, he just came to town one night, and he was always nice to me, so when the police came and he had to leave, I wanted to go, too.”

“He was nice to you?”

“Yeah. I was really clumsy, so I was always running into things and getting bruises and stuff. He always took care of it and never treated me like I was bad or stupid or anything.”

“What about your parents?” Kenshin asked.

“Oh, they said it was okay for me to go with him,” Tomi said.

“Is that true?”

She shied away from him, leaning against the wall and hugging herself around the chest.

“Tomi-dono,” he said gently, “I don’t want to hurt you or push you, but I want to help as best I can, and I can help you and Soujiro more if I know that you’re telling me the truth. But if you don’t want to, I won’t ask again.”

She stayed sitting in silence for a long moment. “I told Soujiro-oniichan that, too, that I was clumsy and hit myself on things,” she said. “He never said anything about it, but I know he knew all along that it wasn’t true, too...”

Kenshin watched her with gentle attentiveness, patient for her to talk at her own pace.

“Really... The truth is... I know my Daddy loves me, and it’s really my fault, because my Mommy died having me and I was just a girl anyway...”

“Those things aren’t faults of yours,” Kenshin said.

“But Daddy was always upset about it. And when he was drunk, or if I did something he didn’t know about or didn’t want me to, he’d get really upset about it, and...” her already-whispering voice dropped even lower, just touching the words lightly with tight breath, “sometimes... a lot... he’d grab me and pull me around and hurt my arm, and he’d hit me...”

Kenshin rested an arm around her shoulders as she spoke. “...And Soujiro took care of your injuries without judging you.”

“He said because my Daddy was bigger and stronger than me, he could do what he wanted and I couldn’t help it. But he said that even if he was bigger, and if he was my Daddy, and even if he loved me and said he was sorry, that he shouldn’t be able to hit me like that. That’s why he took me with him, when my Daddy called the police...”

“To protect you?” Kenshin asked.

Tomi nodded. “He said he’d protect me until I was big and strong, too. But now he got hurt...”

“He’ll be all right,” Kenshin assured her.

“I hope so,” Tomi said. “I feel so bad that he got hurt helping me... When he got shot, I was so scared! I thought he was going to die!”

“Soujiro is a very strong person. I know he’ll recover from this,” Kenshin said. His mind was flashing back to his battle with Soujiro in the Hiei mountains—unbelieveable that over a year had gone by since then. _I guessed that Soujiro had never had anyone to care for him or teach him compassion, that he must have been through some unimaginable pain that would have made him seal his emotions for ten years and see the world as a heartless place where he could only kill or be killed. The idea of me protecting the weak, showing kindness and mercy... I know that deep inside himself he knew that he would have taken joy in those ideas, but he believed it so impossible, had invested so much of himself in a world without them that it broke his mind to let them in. Such terrible pain, to drive all warmth and caring out of a life... He said that when it happened, no one protected him... And now he understands Tomi-dono, who was betrayed and hurt by her father, the one she should be able to trust most of all. Now Soujiro would risk his life to protect her, to keep her from suffering cold and alone as he did..._ “I also know that protecting you is very important to him,” Kenshin told her. “He wouldn’t want you to feel bad about it.”

“I know,” she said, and mustered a smile again. “He’s always so nice.”

“I think it’s wonderful that you and Soujiro met. The two of you were well-matched to help each other.”

“Well, I try, but I’m too little to help much...”

“No,” Kenshin said. “Meeting you has helped him more than you can know. I’m sure of it.”

Tomi beamed at him. A moment after she turned away, her face fell, only a little. “But, Himura-san... Please don’t tell anybody what I told you, about my Daddy. Okay?”

He smiled that she addressed him the same way Soujiro did. “I understand.”

 _to be continued..._

Footnotes:

5\. Furisode: literally means “flutter-sleeves.” This is a dressier style of sleeve on women’s kimono, or the term can refer to a kimono with such sleeves. The shoulder-to-wrist measurement is not unusual, but the sleeve hangs vertically down to about the bottom of the calf.

6\. See Fuyumatsu.


	3. Changing Leaves, part 3

Changing Leaves  
Part Three

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2002

*

 **_May 8_ **

Tomi’s feet clattered across the bridge as she ran across it to meet Soujiro. When they met in the middle of it, he caught her, picked her up, and held her perched happily between his thin, strong arms and his chest. “Happy Birthday!” he said.

“Thank you!” Tomi crowed. “Did you get me any presents?”

“Of course I got presents,” he said. “They’re back at the apartment. It might be better to get the chores done at your house first, though.”

She shook her head. “Can’t do that today, Daddy’s home.”

“Oh. Is he staying home for your birthday? I mean, won’t he miss you?” Soujiro asked, starting back toward his apartment with Tomi still in his arms.

“He remembers more that it’s the day my Mom died, so he’s always in a bad mood this time of year. He drank a lot last night, and he was still asleep when I left.”

“I don’t like how he does that,” Soujiro said. “Some people get dangerous when they’re drunk.”

“Oh, I just stay away from him when he’s like that,” Tomi said, as if she were an expert at it. “He got me new shoes, though.” She stuck out one foot, wearing a straw sandal, obviously cheap but still bright and new.

“Oh, nice! Those will be good with your new kimono.”

“A new kimono? Really!?”

He nodded. “Since it’ll be summer soon, I got you a yukata for your birthday. I hope you like it.”

“I love it!” she said.

“But you haven’t seen it yet.”

“I love it anyway!”

When they arrived at the apartment, Tomi did indeed love the yukata. It had plain squarish sleeves, but it was patterned with white flowers in red swirls, so that it looked like peppermint candy, and the berry-blue obi contrasted tastefully. Soujiro drew a basin of water while she got out of her worn clothes, and before she got into the new kimono, he helped her wash up until she shone like a fresh peach—and at least today the bruises were all older, faded ones.

“So what’ll we have for lunch?” Tomi asked as Soujiro was finishing her obi bow.

“I set aside money so we could have anything you want,” he said.

“Yay!”

“But there’s one more thing before we go.”

“Oh?”

“I got you another present.”

“Ooh! What is it?” She squealed with delight as he produced a small wooden box and handed it to her. She lifted the lid from it and uttered an “Ahh!” of admiration at the gift—a necklace of small round coral beads on a thread, with a brass wire clasp. Right in the middle of the strand, spaced between the smaller beads, were three larger ones, sandwiched in between brass caps like flowers wrapped around the beads. “It’s beautiful!” she said, picking it up to admire it.

“Well, I thought it would match the other kimono, although it might not go so well with the new one.”

“I don’t care, I wanna wear it!” She put it around her neck and fiddled with the clasp for a moment before Soujiro took it, and she sat beaming while he fastened it. “I wanna wear it all the time and never take it off!”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “But it’s better if you leave it here with me. I mean, I wouldn’t want it to come undone and get lost or anything.”

Tomi’s face was torn between pouting at him and gleefully fiddling with the beads, admiring their look and feel. “But you said it was mine...”

“It is. Whenever we go out, you can wear it anytime you want. But because it’s my gift to you that you like, it’s important to me, too,” he said. “I’d feel bad if it got lost or stolen and I wasn’t there.” Of course, he had other, more serious reasons why he didn’t want her to go home with the necklace on. He was sure she knew that, too. He’d never wanted to fluster her by calling her bluff about the bruises that didn’t match their flimsy explanations, but he was sure she knew he’d seen through the false pretense. Now she was being coy about it to argue for getting her way, but he certainly wasn’t going to start pushing her on her birthday.

“Well... okay...” she conceded.

“But you can definitely wear it out to lunch,” Soujiro consoled her brightly. “Where do you want to eat?”

“I want sukiyaki,” she said, “and then get candy.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

**********

 **_September 23_ **

Day was already sliding into evening when Soujiro woke up and came to sit on the porch. Sanosuke was already there, and he could faintly hear Yahiko and Kaoru winding up their practice inside. The three girls were still playing in the yard and occasionally coming over to bother Kenshin as he was cooking supper.

“Did you rest well, Soujiro?” Kenshin asked.

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

Kaoru and Yahiko had just emerged from the dojo when the gate opened and Megumi and Dr. Genzai entered. “Hello, Megumi-san, Genzai-sensei,” Kaoru called.

“Hey,” Sano greeted with a single wave.

“Good evening, everyone,” Genzai said, then rounded up Ayame and Suzume. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, yes, we had lots of fun here with Tomi,” Ayame said.

“Lots of fun!” Suzume echoed.

“That’s good, but it’s time for dinner now, so we should get home.”

“Ken-nii’s(7) cooking dinner,” Ayame said.

“Well, we have dinner at home, too, and Kaoru has enough guests to feed tonight. Let’s go home, okay?”

While Tomi and the other two girls exchanged goodbyes, Megumi came up to the porch with a bundle of paper under her arm. “Soujiro.”

“Eh?”

“I got you a newspaper,” she said, handing it to him. “You made the front page.”

“Eh!? Let me see!” Hurriedly he took it and began scanning the story, with some difficulty in the waning light. However, looking over his shoulder, Sanosuke could easily see the words “Dangerous Fugitive” splashed across the page in enormous type.

“‘...Fugitive extorted food and lodgings from Sumida Junzo and his wife Reiko’...” Soujiro read feverishly. “But what happened to them!? Were they arrested!?”

Megumi was also leaning over the paper from the side. “Here it is,” she said, pointing. “‘Sumidaya is closed while the police investigate, but Sumida said he hopes to reopen early next week.’ Sounds to me like they’re just fine.”

“Ah! I’m so glad!” Soujiro cried.

“What is it?” Tomi asked, climbing up onto the porch next to him.

“Ojisan and Obachan didn’t get arrested! They’re okay!”

“That’s great news,” Kenshin concurred.

“You’ll have to be careful, though,” Megumi said. “The police here are already looking for you. We had some officers asking about you at the clinic—of course I said I hadn’t seen you. But some of them even looked like federal police.”

“Really?”

“Hey, Kenshin, when’s dinner?” Yahiko called.

“It’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”

Sanosuke took the newspaper and leafed through it a little before giving up on the dim light, since Soujiro had lay it aside, apparently having gotten what he wanted out of it.

**********

 **_May 9_ **

The dawn air was sweet and heavy with dew as Soujiro walked home from the bank. He walked slowly on weary legs, enjoying the morning air. Spending days with Tomi and nights at a job didn’t leave him much time for sleep, and he was looking forward to some rest, but Tomi’s birthday had been well worth it.

Bits of her party were still laying about the apartment as he entered; the new yukata was lay out, and the necklace in its box. Too tired to even get undressed, he left everything as it was and unfolded the futon. On a whim, he picked up the box for one more look at the coral necklace before he lay down.

As he lifted the box, he froze. It hefted almost weightlessly, and there was no sound inside it. He opened it, and yes, it was empty.

His mind swam against a wave of dread that broke over him. He looked around desperately. Where else might she have put it? He didn’t know of anywhere else. He didn’t see the necklace anywhere. His eyes came to rest on the empty birdcage. Last night , he’d told her again to take it off, but he should’ve been more careful. He hadn’t watched her do it, or checked. She could’ve hidden it in her clothes; she’d wanted so badly to keep it with her...

Any thought of sleep had been blasted from his mind, and he dashed out the door and down the stairs. He had neither the energy nor the presence of mind for Shuku-chi, his ultimate speed technique, but when he reached the street, he started running as hard as he could, each footfall sending up a burst of sound and dust.

He came sliding to a stop in the overgrown yard of Tomi’s house, startling the scrawny horse. Soujiro didn’t even pause to see if it was “safe.” _I don’t care if her father **is** here. If he’s done anything to her..._ He threw the door open.

The house stood silent as he walked in, alert for any sign of life. At the third step, he felt something under his sandal, stepped back, and knelt to pick it up—a small coral bead.

“Tomi-chan!?” he cried.

“Onii-chan?” came the thready call.

Soujiro darted toward her voice, into the kitchen strewn with wares and furniture. He heard her sobbing behind the overturned table, and ran across the room to carefully move it aside.

Tomi huddled behind it, against the walls in the corner. Her left side was turned toward him, and blood had dried in her hair and on the side of her face. As Soujiro tried to reach around her to hold her, she cried out and guarded her far side with her arms. Her fists were clenched tight.

“Tomi-chan...”

“I’m sorry,” she whined. “I know you told me...” She opened her hands to show a modest collection of salvaged beads, including just one of the three large ones and one of the brass caps.

“I’m sorry, too,” Soujiro said. “I should’ve kept this from happening to you...” Nearly a year ago, in the only battle he had ever lost, he’d asked Himura “Why didn’t you protect me?” when the answer was obvious—he hadn’t been there. _And now this happened to Tomi-chan... She might have screamed for someone to help her, but I wasn’t there..._ Tears ran down his face as he leaned low over her forehead. “I’m so sorry... I thought that being your friend would make your life better, but it wasn’t enough. I should have protected you. I should have stopped him from doing this to you.”

“He said he was sorry.” That was Tomi’s response to the end of the false pretenses.

“I don’t care if he’s your father, and I don’t care if he says he’s sorry! Because he’s bigger and stronger than you, he thinks he can do whatever he wants!” Soujiro cried. “I won’t let him do that anymore! From now on, I’ll protect you.” Carefully, he gathered her up in his arms and lifted her up from the floor. “I’ll take you to a doctor, and then you can come live with me, and I won’t let anybody hurt you anymore.”

“But... my daddy...” she moaned as he began to carry her away.

For a moment he’d lost sight of it. Despite everything, that man was still Tomi’s father. His own family... They’d never even been so kind as to apologize, and yet, he had cried when they died. But still... “I’m sorry, Tomi-chan. But I can’t let him keep you as long as he treats you like this.”

She lay her face against his shoulder, crying softly.

“Do you want to come stay with me?” he asked, although he didn’t know what he’d do if she said “no”.

With her hands still closed tight around the beads, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

Even through his anger and tears and guilt, those words touched him with a tight but deeply-felt smile, and the fresh wave of tears they brought were tears of joy. “No one has ever said that to me before,” he said. Not since he could clearly remember. “Thank you.”

He carried her to the doctor’s house and knocked on the door until the doctor woke up, but the man wasn’t upset about it when he saw Tomi with blood on her face. When he’d examined her, he cleaned a laceration on her left temple and wrapped bandages around her head to bind it, and around her chest to hold a cracked rib. And Soujiro, watching, saw not only those but an assortment of bruises that only time would heal.

His wife took the salvaged beads and strung them on a piece of suture-thread, and tied it just the right length for a bracelet, so that it fit on over Tomi’s hand, but wouldn’t accidentally slide back off. As Soujiro carried her home, she was still worrying the bracelet, as she might cling to a safe-feeling toy. The beads didn’t take up the whole length of the thread, and she slid them up and down it like a rosary.(8)

By the time they reached the apartment, Soujiro had remembered his fatigue, and Tomi felt heavy in his arms, but he spared himself no trouble. The futon already folded out from before, he gently lay her down on it and tucked the pillow under her head, then took her sandals and put them and his own beside the door as he went back to lock it. He got the kakefuton and spread it over her. “I need to get some sleep,” he told her softly, “but if you need anything, please wake me up. I won’t mind, I promise.”

“Okay.”

He got he zabuton and put it near the bed, and lay down on the floor uncovered with his head on that seat-cushion. Even so, he was so tired...

He was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard a shuffling sound beside him, loud in the stillness. He felt Tomi’s warm body snuggle up against him, her face nuzzling his chest.

With some effort, he opened his eyes again. “Tomi-chan,” he whispered. “If you want to do this, let’s both go back to the futon, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

**********

 **_September 23_ **

Soujiro yawned. He nudged Tomi awake on his lap and told her to hold onto him, then stood, supporting her with his right arm. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “Goodnight, and thank you for letting us stay.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Kaoru said. “Goodnight!”

“Thank you! Good night!” Tomi repeated blearily.

Soujiro carried her off to bed amid an exhange of “good night”s, leaving Kenshin, Kaoru, and Sanosuke out on the porch.

“Well, I’m gonna call it a night early, too,” Sano said, getting up and rolling the newspaper in his hand. “‘Night!”

Kaoru and Kenshin bid him good night and started closing up the dojo for the night as he left through the gate and walked down the street toward his apartment. Passing near one of his favorite gambling spots, he ran into a few of his friends, but declined to stay and play dice with them. He explained that the business he’d been called away on last night was no big deal, but it had kept him up and he was tired. True enough, but he wasn’t about to go to sleep just yet.

When he got back to his room, he gathered up and lit every lamp and candle he had to get enough light and sat down with the newspaper, finally.

The cover story told about the incident at the inn, describing the man citizens should be on the lookout for—young and thin, short hair with bangs, blue eyes, bullet wound, smiling and amiable, armed and extremely dangerous. It described the liberation of the old couple from whom he’d extorted food and lodgings—what he’d told them to say, assuming he was telling the truth about that. Finally, he came to what he wanted.

“Probably with the fugitive is Inoue Tomi, a six-year-old girl from a town some distance to the southwest of Tokyo. Tomi has brown eyes and short reddish-brown hair. Seta kidnapped this child from her home, where she had lived with her father, a woodcutter by trade. Authorities believe that Tomi is still alive and well, although police have recieved messages from Seta directly refusing her father’s repeated appeals for her safe return. Mr. Inoue’s message is reprinted on page 8A, in the hopes that this poor child can finally be returned to her loving father.”

So Tomi wasn’t an orphan, after all. Sano could have guessed as much. He glanced over the rest of the article—nothing about Tomi, but there was Soujiro’s altogether impressive list of charges: murder, assassination, unlawful entry, conspiracy, destruction of government property, etc. etc. And of course, a sizeable reward for assisting in his capture.

He flipped through to the message from Tomi’s father. “The following message was dictated to a newspaperman by Inoue Saburo, whose daughter was kidnapped by Seta Soujiro, a.k.a. Tenken no Soujiro (see cover story):

“‘To Seta, or anyone who sees my Tomi and can do anything, please, I’m begging you to bring her home to me. I know I’m just a poor man, but I love her and I’ve done my best. Her mother is gone and she’s all I have. Please bring my daughter home safe!’

“Not only was this message ignored,” the paper continued, “Seta has in fact left a message for police directly refusing to release Inoue Tomi to authorities or return her to her home and father. What this cold-blooded killer wants with an innocent child is a mystery, but it appears that he resided in her hometown for some time, luring her with toys and gifts her poor father could not afford, which police found on his premises after he carried her off.

“Police have not given up hope, as all reports indicate that Tomi is still alive and well, but she is very much in danger as long as she remains in the hands of this dangerous criminal. Any citizens who encounter Seta or Inoue Tomi are urged to proceed with extreme caution, as Seta is very dangerous, but if you have the opportunity, please help the police bring this criminal to justice and return this child to her home. Substantial cash rewards are being offered in this case.”

Having seen enough, Sanosuke lay the paper aside. Tomi wasn’t an orphan as Soujiro had said; she had a home, and a father who loved her and desperately wanted to see her again. Having seen Soujiro after his battle with Kenshin and again today with Tomi hugging him around the waist, Sano knew that the newspaper didn’t have the whole truth either. Clearly Soujiro wasn’t the character the cops and reporters portrayed, a vicious predator who’d lured an innocent child with sweets and toys like the bait in an animal-trap. But still, here was a bereft father, and a little girl living the life of a fugitive...

Sanosuke began blowing out the lamps and candles. He’d see more about this tomorrow, but right now, he needed some sleep.

**********

 **_May 9_ **

Soujiro’s landlady agreed to look after Tomi while he went for dinner—he wasn’t willing to leave her alone even than long. He wrapped up his empty bento(9) box in cloth to carry, and went out for the noodles Tomi wanted. And, he had something else along the way that he knew he had to do.

Before going to the restaurant, he walked into the bank; it was almost strange to be arriving there during business hours. One of the tellers told him that the head banker was in his office, and he went and rapped on the door.

He could hear loud voices inside the room, and he knew even before the portly banker cracked the door to look out at him. With that slice of view through the door, Soujiro could see the other man inside. Until now, he’d only seen Tomi’s father at an anonymous distance, but still recognized him.

The banker excused himself and came out to talk, shutting the door behind him.

“That’s Tomi’s father, isn’t it?” Soujiro asked softly.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the banker replied.

“Yes, you did, and I have to apologize to you,” Soujiro said. “I came to tell you, my friend isn’t feeling well, and I have to help her, so I won’t be able to work until she’s better.” He shot a nervous glance at the door, as if he could see through it; his mind’s eye could, at any rate. “...And I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back here after that, either.”

“I thought as much,” the man said. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I have to say I wish you luck. If you’ll wait here, I’ll get you your pay for the week so far.”

“No, please keep it. To repay the trouble of me leaving so quickly.”

“All right.”

“Well then, good luck to you too, with your business. Good-bye.” With that, Soujiro turned and touched the office door-handle. The banker made a flustered sound, but when Soujiro looked up at him, he reconsidered it, offered an understanding nod, and walked away to see to other business.

Soujiro opened the door a bit and looked in at Mr. Inoue, who looked haggard but surprisingly young in his rough working clothes. One could see just a little of Tomi in his shaggy, reddish hair. “Inoue-san?”

The man looked up. “What? Who are...?” Judging by the way he trailed off, he was already starting to understand.

“My name is Soujiro, and I think I’m the person you’re looking for. Come with me, please.” Mr. Inoue got up and followed as he left the bank—no reason to make trouble for the employer who’d been so kind—and led the way to a quiet niche of street.

“You! You know where my Tomi is!? Where is she? What have you done with her!?”

Soujiro didn’t turn and answer until he chose to. “Tomi is safe.”

“So it _is_ you!” her father shouted. “Where is she? Take me to her!”

“I won’t take you or tell you where she is.”

“What!?”

“Tomi is my friend, and this morning I found her badly hurt. I’m going to take care of her and keep her safe like she deserves.”

“Who do you think you are!?” Mr. Inoue demanded. “You’re talking about _my_ daughter!”

Soujiro felt his eyes narrowing and passed the bento box into his left hand. “I’d like to know who _you_ think _you_ are,” he said. “You think it’s okay to get drunk and beat a little girl who loves you and depends on you, and you make her pay for things that aren’t her fault. Maybe she’ll forgive how you’ve hurt her, but as her friend who loves her, _I’m_ not going to put up with it!”

The man could only sputter at him for a moment before he clenched his teeth hard enough to strike that spark of anger. “Why you...!” he growled, and seized Soujiro by the front of his kimono.

Soujiro inserted two fingers into Mr. Inoue’s fist and bent his thumb back with a quick and powerful grip. He cried out in shock and pain, and with another expert push on his tortured hand, Soujiro had him on his knees and leaned over him. “Up until now, you’ve gotten your way with Tomi-chan because you were the strongest,” he said, “but from now on, I’m her advocate. If you ever touch her again, you’ll have to go through me, and if you fight me, you’ll lose.”

As those words passed his lips, Soujiro realized with a sickening jolt that he was smiling; not the old detached smile, either. He let go of Mr. Inoue’s hand and stepped back. When this man had grabbed his kimono, it was a thrill, wasn’t it? To say with physical strength “No one will ever treat me like this again.” But he’d overpowered someone and put them in pain—someone Tomi loved, no less—and _enjoyed_ it. He could say whatever he wanted about whether he was right or wrong, but if he took what he wanted from this man by force, wasn’t it the same thing all over again? “I’m sorry about that.”

Tomi’s father looked up at him, eyes flashing with rage despite the apology, but he held his hand and stayed silent.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will use my strength to keep Tomi-chan from being hurt,” Soujiro told him, hoping that saying it would make it true. “Please leave us alone.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” the man roared.

As Soujiro turned around, he saw that there was nothing for it. Mr. Inoue pushed himself up and charged at him, with an impassioned but clumsy swing of his fist. Soujiro stood still until the last moment, then ducked, with only a slight lunge forward, and his elbow aimed at the man’s belly. Added to the force of his charge, the gut-blow was enough to send him crashing to the ground(10) without the bento box in Soujiro’s other hand even rattling.

With nothing more to say, Soujiro hurried away before he could recover. After this, there wouldn’t be much time...

 _to be continued..._

Footnotes:

7\. "Ken-nii": Gotten from my fansubs, couldn’t come up with a good way to translate it in the prose. It seems to be a shortened form of “Kenshin-oniichan”; see above note on “Oniichan.”

8\. Just wanted to note that this may seem cross-cultural, but it’s actually not. Some Buddhists use a rosary as well, and although it looks unlike the Catholic kind, it can still be called that.

9\. A lunchbox—would probably have been made of lacquered wood at this time.

10\. This does seem to be the standard blow to knock someone unconscious in anime, and this being an anime fanfic, figured I ought to go with it... And in all truth, the American convention of a knock on the head doesn’t have that much more basis in reality.


	4. Changing Leaves, part 4

Changing Leaves  
Part Four

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

 **_September 24_ **

Kenshin looked up from the breakfast dishes as the door opened and Soujiro slipped in. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“No, not at all. Tomi-dono...?”

“She’s with Kaoru-san,” Soujiro replied. “I kind of wanted to see you...”

“Oh? What about?”

“Nothing, really,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “I’d help you with the dishes, but...”

“I know, you should rest your arm.”

“I did things like this when we first were at the inn, for Ojisan and Obachan,” Soujiro said, taking a seat against the wall a bit to the side. “When I decided to stay, then they got me a uniform and I started doing room service. Everybody said I was good at that because I always act so happy and polite.”

“I can imagine.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed, though...”

“From what you’ve said, you’d found a place you belong, with people you love. That’s not wrong.”

“No, but...” Soujiro trailed off. “Nee, Himura-san?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think it would be okay, I mean... Could you maybe take care of Tomi-chan for me for awhile, while this is going on?”

“I think I definitely could,” Kenshin said.

“...Because I know if she’s with you that she’d be safe, and I don’t want to make trouble for you by staying here...”

“She’ll be sad to see you go.”

“I know, but... I don’t want her to get hurt...”

“I understand that.” Kenshin remembered telling Kaoru goodbye when he left for Kyoto, because he didn’t want her to be hurt in his fight. Kaoru had proven him wrong that time, but he knew what Soujiro was going through, and Tomi so young...

“Ahh, gomennasai!” Soujiro said. “I feel so bad... Like you haven’t done anything but help me, and I’ve given you nothing but trouble...”

“Not at all.”

“I’m sorry about what happened before...” Soujiro said, looking away. “I was so wrong... Not because I lost to you, but in everything that’s happened since then, I think more and more that you were right and I was wrong...”

“Everything that’s happened?” Kenshin asked. “How have you been, this past year?”

“Good mostly. At first it was so hard, though, being a Rurouni... I’d never been on my own, having to make money... I really thought I was going to starve for awhile!”

“Really?”

He nodded. “And winter was so bad... I almost didn’t make it, but... But when I was in trouble, people I didn’t even know helped me. I was so happy that I’d been saved, and I decided I wanted to be like that. I visited Anji-oshou in prison, you know.”

“Oh? How is he?”

“He was doing fine. I talked to him about it, and he said the way people decide to live creates what the world is like, and it made me think of you. I want a world where what Shishio said doesn’t have to be true, where Tomi-chan or anyone wouldn’t have to worry about whether they were the strongest, to have to fight to save themselves. That’s why I know I was wrong before... I’m sorry!” he laughed. “Here I’m just babbling...”

“Not at all,” Kenshin said, and smiled. “It sounds like you’re finding your own way, and I’m glad to hear it. After our battle, I was a bit worried about you, but now I can see you’ve grown a lot.”

“That’s what Anji-oshou said, too,” Soujiro replied. “But really, it’s so embarrassing! I remember how it felt fighting with you, how I got so mad... I remember I said I never wanted to be like you, and now here I’m saying I do. Really stupid, huh?”

Kenshin shook his head. “I was sure, even back then, that you weren’t a killer at heart. It was the anger of seeing something you wanted and couldn’t have, because you believed in Shishio’s way, and to let go of that belief so that you could live the way you wanted to, it would also be letting go of the justification for everything you’d done. It’s not an easy thing. The truth is, I had to pay an even higher price, before I could admit that I was wrong...”

“Ehh...? It’s so hard for me to imagine you changing your mind. The way you are, it’s just... It seems like you must have always been this way.”

Kenshin shook his head sadly. “I was Hitokiri Battousai, if you remember.”

Soujiro nodded slowly. “How do you do it...?”

“What?”

“You had to fight Shishio-san, and I know all kinds of other things happened to you, but you’re still here with everybody. I didn’t know what to do except run...”

“To fight Shishio, I tried to leave here. My friends wouldn’t let me go alone, and they came after me, even though I didn’t want them to. But the truth is, I was happy they did.”

“They sound like great friends.”

“They are.”

“But Ojisan and Obachan couldn’t do that, and it’s not that they don’t like me that much... I just wish... I wish somehow I could’ve gotten through it and stayed, but I couldn’t fight with the police. That just would’ve made it worse... And really, I always knew it would happen.” He leaned back against the wall and spoke softly. “At Tanabata, I’d just gotten my uniform, and we were all tying wishes to the bamboo...”

Kenshin dried his hands on a towel and turned to listen.

“My wish was ‘To live here in peace with my family,’ and I wouldn’t tell anybody what it was, because even then I knew it couldn’t come true... And maybe it was irresponsible or it was wrong, for me to wish for something like that... But... It already was true, and I thought, I’d just have it as long as it lasted...” His voice broke, and he rested his face on his right hand. “But now that’s over...”

Kenshin crossed two steps to Soujiro and took him, with one arm around his uninjured shoulder and the other behind his head. “That’s a beautiful wish,” he said. “I hope that it comes true for you, and although things look bleak now, I believe that it still can someday.”

Soujiro leaned his head on Kenshin’s shoulder as he began sobbing in earnest. “I don’t know what to do!” he cried. “I don’t want to go back to being alone, but I can’t stay here, I can’t go home... If I don’t keep going by myself, it’d be the same thing all over again, but...”

“People like us always have to face that problem,” Kenshin said. “We never want to see the people we love hurt, but sometimes... Sometimes you’re fortunate enough to find someone who thinks you’re worth the risk, and you have to respect that, too. When someone really loves you, it might be worse for them to lose you...”

“That’s not any easier.”

“I know. It would be easier to walk away and say no harm was done, but it isn’t that simple. It was a hard thing for me to learn...”

Soujiro sat back. “But my family... They can’t fight for themselves... So I have to try to protect them, make sure they’re safe.” He turned his head toward his injured shoulder. “Otherwise, I’d never forgive myself...”

Kenshin paused for a moment, with a feeling that there was some significance in that turn of Soujiro’s head that he didn’t understand.

The door rattled open and Yahiko pushed into the room. “Hey, Kenshin, the police are here.”

Soujiro started up. “Eh!?”

Kenshin simply turned. “Looking for Soujiro?”

“Kaoru already told them he wasn’t here. They’re not tearing the place up or anything, but their captain wants to talk to you.”

“All right.” Kenshin unfastened his tasuki cord(11) and shuffled his creased sleeves back down over his elbows. “Stay right here,” he told Soujiro. “It’ll be okay,” and he walked past Yahiko and out of the room.

Soujiro closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the wall again. Had he seriously thought the police wouldn’t come here? Nothing to do... Surely if Himura-san was so calm about it... But still, in his mind, this place could fall in around his ears in another minute, and it would be his fault for bringing it down on everyone...

“What are you so upset about?”

Soujiro hadn’t been paying attention; he was almost surprised to see Yahiko still there, giving him a hard look.

“If Kenshin says it’ll be okay, then it will be.”

Soujiro managed a smile and a laugh. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

Yahiko kept looking at him for a moment, a kind of fiercely-on-guard, sizing-up look. “I defeated one of Shishio’s Ten Swords,” he said at last, for no reason except wanting to.

“Really?”

Yahiko nodded.

Looking over him, obviously he was more than the “punk kid” image he presented. Maybe Soujiro could’ve done it at Yahiko’s age, depending... “Who?”

“Hisho no Henya.”

Soujiro forgot his fears and burst out in merry laughter.

“Don’t laugh! It wasn’t easy!”

“No, no,” he said, wiping laugh-tears. “It’s just too perfect! Wasn’t the way he fought just the cheapest thing ever? Shishio-san said that if I was going to judge him without his wings and bombs, then I’d have to give up my sword, but somehow I still think... Well, I’m happy he was beaten by someone like you.”

“Don’t patronize me!”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Yahiko shot him one last glare, which looked like biting back the words “I’m not scared of you,” and then turned sharply and stamped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Soujiro smiled to himself; he remembered Henya always acting so smug, convinced he’d built himself the invincible advantages... He’d been brought down by an earnest child with a shinai. Soujiro remembered that he should stay quiet, and he felt the suppressed laughter shake his injured shoulder, just a little.

**********

 **_May 9_ **

By the time Soujiro got home with the noodles, he’d begun to feel the magnitude of what had happened, and he couldn’t eat. Instead, he darted around the apartment for what to take with him—probably the police would come that very night. He collected together all the money he had there; he hadn’t thought to save, but even the little bit he could find was something. His mind flew across the contents of the room, picking up nothing. Of course the furniture couldn’t be carried and would all have to be abandoned. His eyes lingered over the blue kakefuton draped over Tomi’s knees, and he knew that he’d miss it.

“What are you doing?” Tomi asked around a mouthful of noodles.

“We have to leave here tonight,” he said. No way to keep it from her. “I’m sure your father will be sending the police here anytime now. We have to get away.”

She stared at him. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” He folded the carrying-cloth from the bento box and put it in his kimono, looked at the toys on the floor and took the worn old stuffed horse.

“Can I take my doll?”

“Yes.”

“And my ball?”

“We have to carry everything we take...” He trailed off realizing that she looked more excited than upset. How she managed that with a broken rib, he had no idea. “Just hurry and finish your noodles.”

Tomi didn’t have to be told twice. She clutched her doll in one hand and wolfed her food with the other. Soujiro sat and watched her—there wasn’t even any point in trying to think of more to pack.

When she was finished, he put her yukata on over her nemaki, tying the obi hastily and loosely—the furisode kimono would just have to be left behind.

He told Tomi to wait and left the apartment to sneak a look down the staircase. No police yet, but the landlady was sitting down there and would be sure to see anyone leaving. Buying an extra few minutes could make all the difference... Back in the apartment he looked out the window and found himself lucky—the alleyway below was quiet and empty.

“Stand aside, Tomi-chan,” he said, locking the door and starting to pile as much furniture in front of it as possible.

“How are we gonna get out?” she asked as she watched him.

“The window.”

He pushed the low table across the floor, using it to prop the futon against the rest of the furniture. The sights and sensations of the home he’d built here... It hurt to see them all in a pile, the blue kakefuton rolling a flash of color into the tangle, now no more than cloth and wood. Hopefully they could escape unseen, and these things piled up would convince the police they’d barricaded themselves inside. In one last gesture of kindness, the furniture would buy them time before the police realized where they’d gone. It was a noble sort of goodbye.

“It’s an awfully long way down...” Tomi said as Soujiro finished blocking the door. When he turned he couldn’t help a pang of fear, seeing her leaning her head out the window, two stories up. After all, that was the window Kotori-san had tried to fly out from...

Gently he took her and pulled her back. “I’ll carry you; it’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m sure I can make it.”

“What if you fall on your head? You might get hurt.”

“It’ll be fine, I know how to do this.” He gave her a smile that he hoped hid his own nervousness. His old skills always seemed to be there when he needed them, but it had been a long time... “Hold on tight,” he said as he picked Tomi up against his chest. She held him around the neck.

The western-style windowframe came in useful as he lifted the pane open completely and slid himself out facing up, getting handholds on the outside frame. The starry sky over the eaves was a dizzying sight, and he took care not to bump Tomi on the window, but at last he had his feet on the sill. Balancing carefully, he managed to grip the inner pane with his toes at the split in his tabi, and he pushed it down enough that the opening would look too narrow to have admitted this escape route.

He looked over his shoulder and gauged the distance to the opposite wall of the alley, then turned back for one last look at the piled remains of their home, warm and hazy through the lamplit glass. He let go of the windowframe and pushed off with his feet in one motion, and when the ground met him, he rolled to a kneel, so as not to jar Tomi in the landing. It was perfect, except that he took a step to get his balance, and without a pause, he rose and walked away.

**********

 **_September 24_ **

Kaoru was wearing her dojo clothes, facing a single uniformed federal policeman, who held his hat in his hands as Kenshin approached behind Kaoru.

“...And Kenshin was the one who fought Shishio for you,” she was saying, “so I don’t see how you could think—”

“No, nothing of that kind, Ma’am. No one here is under suspicion,” the policeman assured her, then noticed Kenshin coming. “Ah, Himura-san, I presume?”

Kaoru looked over her shoulder. “That’s right,” Kenshin said, stopping beside her.

The man paused awkwardly, noticing the bruise on Kenshin’s cheek, but then put it aside and surprised them both with a deep bow from the waist. “Federal police, Captain Hakata, at your service,” he said. “I believe this is the first time we’ve met, but I’ve read the reports, and I know what a tremendous help you were to our nation’s government against Shishio’s attack and others. I must say, it’s an honor to meet you.” He offered his white-gloved hand.

Kenshin took it and shook hands, a little awkwardly. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“As to the matter at hand, I’m sure you’re aware by now that Tenken no Soujiro has been seen in this area in the last 24 hours.”

“Yes.”

“I’m commanding a special unit sent here to capture him. He’s eluded us for over a year now, but since he was injured in our last encounter, I’m quite confident that we’ll catch him this time. I know that you defeated him before, and probably understand his mind more than I do. I would greatly appreciate any assistance you can offer me in finding him.” His amiable face became more stern as he spoke.

“I understand, but I apologize, Hakata-dono,” Kenshin answered. “I can’t help you.”

“I see,” Hakata said. “I apologize for disturbing you and Kamiya-san. Please come to us with any information that finds you.” With another bow, he put on his hat and left the dojo.

When he was safely gone, Kaoru sighed with relief. “I was afraid he wasn’t going to leave... Really, though, I hadn’t expected him to be so nice.”

“Ah,” Kenshin nodded. “But he’s also very determined. We’ll have to be careful about him.” He turned and headed back toward the dojo. “I’ll tell everyone he’s gone.”

“Okay.”

Kaoru thought to close the gate, but stepped outside and looked around. Hakata was out of sight, but before she could go back inside, she saw Ayame and Suzume running down the street toward her. “Kaoru-oneechan!”

**********

 **_May 20_ **

Tomi’s face, flushed and sunburned, was red as a cherry as she sat in the grass, crying.

“It’s okay,” Soujiro said, carefully taking her sandals off her feet. The constant travel had worn on them quickly, and he held it up to show Tomi. “See, it just wore a hole there.” Probably it had left a blister, but it would heal before long.

Tomi snatched the shoe out of his hand and screamed as she flung it away into the trees.

Soujiro watched it fly. “There’s a town not too far ahead,” he said. “I’ll get you some new shoes that’ll be better to walk in.” He offered a hand but Tomi crossed her arms.

“My feet hurt,” she wailed, “and my legs hurt, and it’s so hot! I wanna go home!”

“We’ll get caught if we go back there.”

“I don’t want to walk anymore...” Tomi sniffled.

“It gets easier after awhile, I promise,” Soujiro said. He smiled for her and clasped both of her hands. “I’ll carry you into town, and then we can get something cold to drink, and I’ll get you new shoes and a sun hat. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpered.

But when he turned to let her up piggyback, she paused for a long moment before taking hold of him.

**********

 **_September 24_ **

While Kenshin and Kaoru were talking with the policeman, Yahiko patrolled the dojo, with his shinai on his shoulder. He whipped around at the sound of approaching footsteps and found Sanosuke coming up the hall. “Hey, Sanosuke! What are you doing sneaking in the back door?”

“There’s a cop at the front door,” Sano answered. “Where’s Soujiro?”

“In the kitchen,” Yahiko said, pointing.

Sano passed him without another word, and by the time Yahiko caught up, he was leaning in the kitchen door toward Soujiro. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”

“Eh!? But, Himura-san said to stay—”

Sano glanced up and down the hallway. “Coast is clear. Come on.”

Hesitantly, Soujiro rose and followed him into the wide into the wide, tatami-floored practice hall, with Yahiko close behind. “So, what is it?”

Sano turned to face him. “We’re going to get somet things straight,” he said. “Where did you pick up Tomi, really?”

Soujiro smiled, but his brows knitted up. “Well, I told you she’s just an orphan I—”

“That’s not what the papers say. Either they’re lying or you are, and by the look on your face, I think it’s you.”

His face fell. “Gomennasai. I guess you read about her father then?”

“That he wants her back and you said no? Yeah.”

“Wait,” Yahiko said. “You _kidnapped_ Tomi!?”

“It’s not like that!” Soujiro protested. “She wanted to come with me! She’s my friend!”

“She’s just a kid! She’s too young to decide that,” Sano argued. “Being her friend doesn’t give you leave to take her away from her father who loves her!”

Soujiro’s eyes were downcast. “Do all families love their children...?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Yahiko asked.

He looked up. “Tomi can’t go back home. I won’t let that happen. It’s better for her to stay with me.”

“Better for her to be a fugitive on the run from the cops, with bullets flying around!?” Sano demanded.

“I know about that... I wish I could do better, but I can’t let her go back, whatever happens.”

“Why not!?”

Soujiro avoided his gaze, silent for a long moment. “If you don’t approve of it, then we’ll just leave.”

“Listen, I know you don’t remember it, but the night you showed up in town you made me promise to protect Tomi-chan, and not let anyone take her away from me,” Sano said. “And until you give me a good reason not to, I say that includes you.”

After another long pause, Soujiro looked up. His eyes had narrowed, and his face was uncharacteristically grim. “With my arm like this, maybe you can stop me if you want to, but you saw me fight Himura-san in the Hiei mountains, so you know it won’t be easy."

“Nothing ever changes, huh? If you’re stronger, then you get your way.”

“No,” Soujiro said. “This is because keeping Tomi with me is important enough to fight for. Maybe in ten years I’ll find out I was wrong, but right now I’m sure enough to bet that I’m right.” Only now Sano realized that Soujiro had crossed to the wall as they were talking, and he lifted one of Kaoru’s bokken from its place. Yahiko readied his shinai in response.

“If you want to bet against me,” Soujiro continued, “then we’ll see who wins.”

“Well, if you’re not going to _tell_ me why this is so damn important—” Sano shouted, readying his fists.

He was interrupted by the door sliding open; seeing Sano, Yahiko, and Soujiro facing each other on guard, Kenshin dashed into the room. “What’s happening!?”

“He kidnapped the girl who’s with him!” Yahiko said, not taking his eyes off Soujiro.

Soujiro and Sano did turn to him and loosen their guard. “I saw it in that newspaper,” Sano said. “She has a father and he wants her back.”

“I knew she had a father,” Kenshin said, slowly walking in between the opposing parties.

“Eh? You knew that?” Soujiro asked. The bokken was lowered at his side by now.

“I asked Tomi-dono about it and she told me. I agree with Soujiro that we mustn’t let her be taken back to her father.”

“Then _you_ tell me!” Sano insisted. “What the hell is the deal!?”

“I think that when Soujiro met Tomi, he had to protect her,” Kenshin said, and turned to Soujiro. “...Because she was in the same place where you had been, and no one protected you.”

Soujiro stared at him speechlessly.

“Before Shishio. Am I right?”

He laughed, but turned away. “How do you do that?”

“What you were ranting about, back then...?” Sano surmised.

“What are you guys talking about??” Yahiko asked.

“Shut up,” Sano said.

“Hey!”

“No,” Soujiro said. “When I fought Himura-san before, and he told me life wasn’t just survival of the fittest, I said ‘why didn’t you protect me?’ It was a really dumb question, since he wasn’t even there...”

“And the same thing happened to Tomi—what?” Sano asked.

He paused for a long moment before he spoke, eyes to the floor. “Before I met Shishio-san, my family always hated me, because I wasn’t their real child, but I was just little and they were stronger than me, so they could do what they wanted, and there was nothing I could do. So I learned to take it and smile and not make any trouble...” he was almost whispering, “...no matter how much it hurt when they would beat me... That’s how I got the way I was before...”

“Soujiro...” Sano said.

“When I asked you if all families love their children, I really don’t know. Tomi’s father is her real father, and he would say that he was sorry and that he loved her, but I don’t understand how someone could be like that, if they really loved their child... Everybody told me ‘you can’t interfere in other people’s families,’ but when I was little like Tomi, I lived through Hell because of people thinking like that. So...”

A long moment of silence blanketed the room. Yahiko finally put up his shinai, and Kenshin touched Soujiro’s uninjured shoulder.

Sanosuke’s face darkened until he let out a hot, grating sigh.

Soujiro looked up at him. “Areh?”

Sano seized him by the collar. “ _ **Why didn’t you just tell me that!?!?**_ ” he shouted before letting go. “Shit, you made me look like a stupid jerk!!”

“Gomennasai! It’s just embarassing somehow. Like, how horrible would you have to be for your own family to hate you? With how I was later, sometimes I still wonder if maybe I deserved it all along...” He was looking away again, his smile strained.

“Now look, it’s okay,” Sano said apologetically. “Don’t get like that. Just forget it.”

“No, I’m okay,” Soujiro said, brightening up. “Really, I’m happy to know you’re so concerned about Tomi-chan, that you agree I made the right choice to take her. I—”

He cut off as Kaoru ran into the room; she glanced quickly to the side before looking at the group. “What are you all doing here!?” she cried.

Soujiro put away the bokken with a guilty, innocent smile.

“Out! Out, out, out!” Kaoru shouted, but as she started herding them out of the practice hall, she only targetted Sano and Yahiko, and Kenshin stayed Soujiro where he was.

“What’d I do!?” Yahiko protested.

“Get out!” With one last push through the doorway, she slammed the sliding door shut behind them, then ran to one of the storage closets at the side of the room. Kenshin had seen her glance at it when she entered, and now she cautiously slid the door open. “You can come out now; it’s safe.”

“Tomi-chan!” Soujiro’s mouth went slack with surprise as Tomi crept out of the closet a few steps, then ran to him and clung to him tightly.

Kenshin looked up and found Kaoru still upset. “Kaoru-dono, what happened?”

She took a deep breath. “Kenshin, Megumi-san was just arrested!”

“Eh!?”

“The lady doctor?” Tomi asked.

**********

 **_June 2_ **

“Is she okay?” Soujiro asked.

“With some rest and plenty of fluids, she’ll be fine,” the doctor said, drying his hands with a cloth. “The vomiting was from stress and maybe a little dehydration; she just got tired and overheated. Where are you two headed, anyway?”

“Um, nowhere in particular...” Soujiro said. The doctor raised an eyebrow at him and he paused awkwardly. “How soon do you think we could leave again?”

“Are you crazy?” he asked. “This once is a minor thing, but you can’t take a little girl traipsing around the countryside indefinitely. You saw the strain it puts on her. When you leave here, you need to get where you’re going and be done with it, or you need to take her home.”

“Well, how soon should we leave?”

The man sighed. “I’ll say about a week. You’ll have to find somewhere to stay in town for that long.”

“But I don’t have any money for—”

“Not any?” the doctor asked.

“Well, just a little...”

He folded his arms crossly. “There’s a charge for a doctor visit, you know.”

“Eh!?” When Tomi had become sick, Soujiro had panicked and brought her here without any thought of the cost, and now that he got out his wallet, the doctor frowned at the few coins he was able to shake out of it. “I’m sorry...” he said. “I was so worried about Tomi-chan, I didn’t think...”

The doctor sighed again. “All right, I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said. “An old friend of mine runs an inn just down the street; I’m always putting patients up with them. If you’ll work there for the week, they’ll probably let you have the room and board and you can pay me back. That all right?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Soujiro replied.

“Well, no time like the present.”

Soujiro went into the room where Tomi was sleeping, and she only half-woke as he lifted her onto his shoulder and followed the doctor out into the narrow, quiet street.

The clinic was located on the inland fading edge of Yokohama, a short walk from the railroad tracks that led to and from the busy heart of the city. The doctor led them away from the tracks, and a short way down the road, a wooden fence bounded a large yard blossoming upward with peach trees throughout, so many of them that only the path up to the door offered a clear view of the pristine wooden building and the sign above its door: “Sumidaya.” The smell of peach blossoms lingered as they went inside.

The doctor looked into the kitchen. “Hello, Reiko. Is Junzo around?”

“Oh, he’s out doing some shopping, but he ought to be back soon,” came the reply. “What is it?” As Reiko emerged from the kitchen, she was revealed as a slightly roundish woman with variegated grey hair tied back in a bun at her nape, and a wrinkled but friendly face. She wore a white kimono and a dark blue jacket, with mon at her hips and at the center back in the image of an ink bottle and peaches.(12)

“I’ve brought you some help,” the doctor explained, “but it needs a place to stay.”

“Oh?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Soujiro said, resituating Tomi on his shoulder. “My name is Soujiro, and this is Tomi.”

“Pleased to meet you, too; I’m Sumida Reiko,” she said.

“These two were travelling and the little girl got sick from exhaustion,” the doctor told her. “She needs a rest, but her big brother here couldn’t even pay me for the office call.”

“I didn’t mean to bother anyone,” Soujiro said. “If you would let me work here to pay my debt and have a place for Tomi-chan to rest, I’d be very grateful.”

“Oh, that’s no trouble. The poor little darling,” Reiko said. Tomi stirred as Reiko stroked her hair. “We’ll get her all tucked in and then you can help me out in the kitchen.” She began to lead the way to a room, but paused in the hallway. “Ah, Junzo, honey!”

Her husband was coming through the door behind them, carrying a basket of vegetables. He had white hair with a beard, mustache, and a short ponytail, and he wore a similar uniform to Reiko’s, with white hakama. “This what you needed?” he asked her, lifting the basket.

“Oh, yes, put it in the kitchen,” she said. “These two will be staying here, working for their room.”

“All right, fine,” he said, and walked past them into the kitchen.

“Ah, Junzo,” the doctor called after him and followed.

“Right this way,” Reiko beckoned. “It’s just a small room, but I hope you’ll feel at home, and then I’ll get you started chopping those vegetables.”

Tomi raised her head. “Onii-chan?” she asked blearily.

“It’s okay. We’re at an inn; we’ll be staying here awhile until you’re better.”

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder again.

 _to be continued..._

Footnotes:

11\. A tasuki cord is a cord or stip of cloth tied around the shoulders and crossed in back, used to hold back kimono sleeves during activities when they would be in the way. We often see Kenshin wearing one as he does housework, and Kamatari wears the biggest tasuki cord I’ve ever seen.

12\. This is a “hanten” kimono jacket, with the inn’s “mon” or crest on it. The crest has an ink bottle in it because the “sumi” in the name “Sumidaya” means “ink”, and of course the peaches refer to the peach trees in the yard.


	5. Changing Leaves, part 5

Changing Leaves  
Part Five

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

 **_September 24_ **

“Ah, Himura-san!” Hakata greeted brightly when Kenshin caught up with him on his way across the police station. “How can I help you? Have you by chance heard anything?”

“I heard that your men arrested Takani Megumi,” Kenshin said.

“Ah, yes, the physician. That’s right.”

“Megumi-dono is a close friend of mine. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, that remains to be seen,” Hakata said more gravely, as a group of policemen passed them in the hallway carrying rustling sheafs of papers. “According to eyewitness reports, it seems Seta was at her clinic, and that she must have treated his injury, but she claims to have no memory of him. She must have seen something, and we have to know. Once this is over, or she is able to give us some information, she’ll be free to go; don’t worry.”

“Chief Muraki told me that you had brought charges up from that trouble with Kanryuu last year, to hold her indefinitely.”

“Just a bargaining strategy, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Kenshin frowned at him. “Is there any way that she could be released?”

“Not without her cooperation, or Seta in our hands. I hate to say it, but it seems your friend might be hiding something. Maybe Seta threatened her; I don’t know. Even so, Obstruction of Justice is a crime, also.”

“Can I see her?”

“Not at this time.” Hakata came to a room and opened it; he turned in the doorway to face Kenshin directly. “Believe me, I don’t want this situation to drag on anymore than you do, but unfortunately I have a duty to perform here. If you want to help your friend, the best way to do that is by helping me with this investigation. I am sorry, but that’s the best answer I can give you now.”

As Kenshin took a breath to reply, Hakata pulled the door shut between them.

**********

 **_June 10_ **

Soujiro had already memorized the steps of taking the sheets off the clotheslines. With the top of his kimono hanging at his waist and his shirtsleeves rolled back, he held one end and Junzo held the other, then there was a consistent pattern of stepping further to fold lengthwise, closer to fold shortwise until the sheet was small enough to be finished by one person and put in the basket to be taken inside. There was just enough breeze to rustle the sheets with ripples and occasional flapping sounds, and to fill the backyard with their smell, crisp and sunny, but with a lingering scent of water to soften it.

Tomi ran up and down between the diminishing rows of sheets still hanging, occasionally wrapping them around herself or throwing two apart dramatically like curtains to look out at Soujiro and Junzo.

“Now, don’t you pull any of those down, girl,” Junzo cautioned as she opened a pair of sheets.

“I won’t.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Soujiro asked, smiling back at her as he unpinned another sheet.

“Um... no.” She snapped her curtains shut with a flourish and took off running among the clotheslines again.

“She doesn’t want to leave,” he said as he brought his two corners of the sheet together in front of his chin. Turn it counterclockwise and step forward...

“You don’t have to, you know,” Junzo offered, looking at him over the top of the cloth as their hands met and he took Soujiro’s corners. “You’re such a hard worker, we’d be happy to keep you on, and you said you didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“I really shouldn’t... I mean, we should leave soon...” He stepped back until the shortwise fold pulled taut around his fingers.

“So you’re not going anywhere particular, but you’re in a hurry to get there?”

“Well, it’s kind of...”

“We’re fugitives from the law!” Tomi declared through a layer of cloth.

Soujiro started and pulled the sheet out of Junzo’s hands, but snatched it up without letting it touch the ground and laughed. “Tomi-chan, don’t say that! It’s not funny!”

To his relief, Junzo laughed, too. “Kids have such wild imaginations sometimes... Why don’t you go inside and see if your Obachan has something for you to do?” he called to her.

“Okay!” she said, and ran back to the inn.

“Seriously, though,” Junzo continued, taking the corners of the sheet again as they straightened it out, “you don’t have to tell me where you’re going. I don’t want to pry if you have to get somewhere and just don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not that,” Soujiro said. “It’s just that I don’t want to be any trouble...”

“Nonsense! You’re a big help around here. Wonder if I’ll ever know how you get things done so fast.” Junzo answered, bringing the corners up and together again. “I’m afraid we can’t pay you too much, but you can keep your room and eat here, no charge.”

“Well, I do have to pay the doctor...”

“Oh, don’t worry about that; that’s all taken care of. We’d just be happy to have you stay on, if you’d be willing to. Reiko and I aren’t as young as we used to be. We could use the help, and at the risk of scaring you off, Reiko’s talking about how nice it is to have kids around the house again. Of course I understand if the pay isn’t enough, or if you really want to leave. What do you think about it?”

Soujiro took the corners from Junzo and smoothed the sheet against his chest as he made the last few folds. “I’d really like to stay...” After all, he hadn’t heard a stir from the police here yet, and Tomi was so happy... Truthfully, he was, too. For so long, it had been more comfortable to wander alone, and his travels found so many things to learn, but since he’d left Tomi’s hometown, it wasn’t the same. He hadn’t found anything in it except the distance and practical worries. Staying there with her had felt like moving in the right direction, and here he had begun to feel the same way. Reiko and Junzo were so kind, he already thought he would miss them if he left. Soujiro the Rurouni already felt like something in his past, something he was happy to have been through, but that was finished, that it wouldn’t be any use to go back to. And if it did come to that, he reasoned, always better to do it with a bit of money. “I guess I can for a while,” he said.

“Splendid!” Junzo said, taking the folded sheet and putting it in the basket. “Reiko will be glad to hear it. I think she’s just itching to make you a uniform.”

“I didn’t mean that long,” Soujiro protested.

**********

 **_September 24_ **

Soujiro stood just inside the doors of the dojo, out of sight from the yard and porch, with Tomi still clinging to him. “Onii-chan?” she asked, looking up. He shushed her as he heard footsteps in the yard and turned to listen surreptitiously.

“Kenshin!” Kaoru called. “What did they say?”

“They’re holding her until she cooperates or until this is resolved,” he answered.

Soujiro’s heart sank, although he had to admit that it was what he’d expected.

“Where’s Sano?” Kenshin asked.

“He left right after you did. I just hope he doesn’t get himself in any trouble... What do we do now?”

“I’m not sure,” Kenshin said. His voice had come closer, and from the sound of brushing cloth, it seemed he was sitting down on the porch. “They might let her go once they’re convinced that Soujiro isn’t here. Or once he’s left and has a head start, it would be safer for Megumi-dono to talk to them, if we could let her know...”

Those ideas seemed far away as Soujiro listened; Megumi was in jail for helping him, and even Kenshin couldn’t dissuade the police from holding her... What if they realized that the people here at the dojo were hiding him? As he’d said in the kitchen earlier, this danger would follow wherever he went and catch up to everyone in any place he alighted, it was only a question of how long it would take. The only way out of it was to keep running, always alone—and that would mean abandoning Megumi in jail here, leaving everyone to any trouble he had already caused. Or...

“Why doesn’t he just turn himself in?” Yahiko said. “Then there wouldn’t be any of this trouble, and most of the other Juppon Gatana got arrested one way or another. It mostly came out okay.”

“Yes, but none of them assassinated the Secretary of State or had to be chased for over a year,” Kenshin said. “There’s really no telling. He might be able to strike a compromise like the others, or turning himself in might be throwing away his life. I just don’t know.”

Tomi looked up at Soujiro again. “Ah—”

“Shh.” He tried to stay as quiet as possible, but there was a pause in the conversation outside.

When Kenshin spoke again, his words were clearer, as if directed more toward the doorway. “If that is what he wants to do, I’ll help as much as I can, since I do have a little influence, but I wouldn’t ask him to take such a risk if it wasn’t his own choice.”

Soujiro slowly bent down and let Tomi take hold of him, then lifted her with his right arm and silently walked away down the hall.

“Onii-chan, what’s happening?” Tomi whispered. “What were they talking about? In the room before, too. I don’t understand.”

“Ah... I’ll tell you about it when you’re older,” he whispered back. He carried her quietly to the back of the dojo, and when he let her down, he didn’t straighten back up, but remained crouched at eye-level with her. “Tomi-chan, I have to leave.”

“No!” she cried. “Don’t go!”

“I have to,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know it’s like everything bad is happening all at once, but... It’s really me the police are chasing. When they came to the inn, you or Ojisan or Obachan could’ve gotten hurt, and now it’s causing trouble for the people here... Megumi-san was arrested for helping me. Everyone here is in danger if I stay.”

“I’ll go with you!” she cried, making him flinch as she grabbed onto him without thinking of his injury. “I won’t complain this time, I promise!”

She clung to him with desperate eyes, but the pain in his shoulder reminded him what could have happened, with just a little more force behind that bullet... Maybe if he could stay ahead of the police... But even if she could promise not to complain, even if she could get used to the strain, it was enough to imagine himself having to live on the run forever, never resting, never letting himself get attached to anyone... He didn’t want Tomi to live that kind of life. If he kept running and left her here, to keep her safe, he could never come back. He could never see her, or Ojisan and Obachan, or Himura-san, or anyone, again... His remembered Tanabata wish ached in his chest. That was what he wanted, not just to last for a moment, but forever; it hardly seemed worth it to run if that wasn’t his destination, but the government, the police, in the end they held it in their hand. He couldn’t reach it by running from them...

“You can’t come this time,” Soujiro told her. “I’m going to go to the police.”

“No, don’t!” Tomi cried.

“It’s better this way. This way we can stop running.”

“No! Please, let’s just go!”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to run anymore.”

“They’ll kill you!” she wailed.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, and showed her a smile that he hoped masked his own fears. “I just have to take care of this, and then I’ll come back. Then we can go home together, back to Ojisan and Obachan.”

He knew he was lying, or at least not telling her the truth. Maybe he would be like Anji and be sentenced to 25 years in prison, or even more, but whatever they wanted to do with him, ‘to live in peace with my family’ lay on the other side, and there was nothing to do but start across. Tomi might even have been right; Kenshin had said as much, too, but even that, instead of everyone back at the inn, or everyone here, going to prison because of him, instead of a bullet in Tomi’s head... Even that would be worth it... But even if Tomi could understand that, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her...

“Okay?” he asked her.

She nodded hesitantly.

“You stay here with Himura-san. It’ll be all right.”

Tomi whined and sniffled, and he held her close for a long moment. “Just stay here,” he whispered in her ear. “It’ll be okay.” With that, he stood and walked over to the backyard fence, gauged its height, and bounded over it.

Tomi heard him land lightly on the other side. That slight sound roused her to action, and she ran to the fence where he’d left, but it was twice her height, with no handholds. She reached as high up it as she could, but it was no use, and she started pounding on the wooden boards with her fists. “Onii-chan! Come back!!”

Her cries quickly brought Kenshin and Kaoru running. Kaoru dropped to her knees beside Tomi and took her gently by the shoulders. “Tomi-chan, what happened!?”

“Soujiro-oniichan left me here!!” she wailed, and caught her breath with gasping sobs.

“Did he say where he was going?” Kenshin asked her.

“The police,” she answered, her voice strained. “I don’t know what’s going on! I’m so scared!”

“Shh, it’ll be okay...” Kaoru soothed, hugging Tomi against her shoulder as she broke out crying in earnest.

**********

 **_June 26_ **

As Tomi entered the room, Reiko turned from her sewing basket to scan the paper list in Junzo’s hand. “That should be everything,” she said.

“All right.”

“Obachan, when will the cakes be ready?” Tomi asked.

“After dinner,” Reiko answered.

“Some of them are cool now.”

“You haven’t been touching them, have you?”

“I just almost did...”

“Those are for after dinner,” Junzo repeated. “Why don’t you come shopping with me, keep you out of trouble for awhile?”

“Can I?” She perked up, and noticed Soujiro coming up the hall. “Can I go shopping with Ojisan?”

“It’s fine with me,” he said as he came to the doorway. His damp kimono sleeves clung to his slender, bare arms, and the neckline hung open enough to show his collarbones. “The lunch dishes are done, and I hung out the laundry, but... Do you know where my shirt is?” he asked with a not-quite-awkward grin.

“I’ve got it here,” Reiko answered.

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to come with you?” he asked Junzo.

“No,” Reiko cut in, with a beckoning gesture. “I want you here.”

“I warned you about this,” Junzo said, passing by Soujiro and out of the room with Tomi at his heels. “Back in a bit!”

“See you later!” Tomi echoed as Junzo shut the door behind them, leaving Soujiro and Reiko inside.

“Here you are,” she said, finding his shirt in her pile of mending and holding it up by the shoulders.

“Thank you.” He took it from her and found a bundle of paper strips embroidered as a semori(13) on the back of it. “Eh, is there anything else you need me to do?”

“Stay here; I want to measure you.” She got up from her zabuton trailing a measuring tape, and she gently guided Soujiro to the middle of the room before wrapping it around his waist. “Just stand straight and relax. Ahh, I’ve been falling down on the job. Been here a month and you’re so skinny I can feel your ribs.”

“Um, Reiko-san...”

“You know, you can call me ‘Obachan,’ too. I wouldn’t mind.” She placed the end of the tape at his waist in back. “Hold that there, would you?”

He reached around his back to hold it in place as she checked the length to the floor and wrote down the results. “What’s this for?”

“For a uniform,” she answered. “I’d better get to work on it before the holiday. Around Tanabata we’ll be so busy I won’t have time to get much sewing done.”

“You don’t have to do that. I really can’t stay for too long...”

“I know, I know. You’re a fugitive from the law.”

Soujiro laughed uncomfortably. Why did Junzo ever have to repeat that?

“Just drop your arms,” she said, measuring across his shoulders. “At least you could stay until the end of the summer when the peaches are ready to pick. It’ll be better weather for travelling then,anyway, and you can have the uniform for a few months.”

“I don’t want to let myself get settled, though...” he said. “That is... It’s hard because I really want to stay here and I really can’t...” Her touch was warm and pleasant, but also made him nervous as she held the tape at his shoulder and smoothed it down his flank, then measured from the shoulder seam to the wrist of his kimono with one stroke of her warm, leathery hand down his arm.

“Come now, don’t feel like you have to go,” she said, writing the new numbers down and coming back over. “You and Tomi are practically family. Hold this.”

He took the end of the tape again, this time on the bone behind the base of his neck. “Family... You really think so?”

“It’s amazing how you can get attached to someone so quickly,” she said from behind and below, giving a slight tug on the measuring tape as she checked the distance to the floor again. “Our own children are gone and moved away, maybe I hate an empty nest. I’m sorry, I’m just a silly old hen...” Nonetheless, she turned him around gently for another measurement.

“It’s not silly...” he said. Her fingers tickled as she held the tape end on his shoulder against his neck and followed it down, holding the needed length with a gentle hand on his chest, over his heart.

 _“Family”..._ The word conjured memories of his childhood family and their hatred: being loaded down with slave-work, being beaten and thrown out into a cold night, being weak and vulnerable and always paying the price for it. But he knew that was an aberration. Tomi’s father, too, with his neverending cycle of anger and violence, buried under guilt and apology and secrecy, always to resurface. Even Soujiro knew that those things weren’t “Family.” That was something he had only seen from the outside—until now. Gentle old men shopping with their grandchildren—what Junzo and Tomi were doing at this moment—and not an order and a threat, but folding the sheets together and “You’re such a help.” Days together ending with a soft “good night” to see him off to a warm sleep; a gentle, trusted hand—the sensation of Reiko’s hand on his chest lingered even as she went to make more notations—surely that, not a blow from a fist, was the touch of Family.

Wasn’t this how he always wished it could have been, what he wanted for the rest of his life? To live together in peace... It was so subtle in its presentation that he could have failed to notice, could have let it slip right by...

And maybe he had, at that. Danger still followed behind him, somewhere, and he was alone with that secret. That was why it didn’t feel right. This was all superficial, all built on false pretense. It was only true if they really knew him and still made the offer, and he knew that was too much to ask. Against his will, his face squeezed tight as the weight of his guilt bore down on him as it hadn’t since the day he’d met Kotori-san(14), and he knew that for someone like himself, someone with so much blood on his hands, it was too much to ask...

Reiko came back from the desk and touched his shoulder. “Something is wrong.”

He nodded.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“If I told you, then I’d have to leave,” he said in a strained whisper. But he knew it had to be done, and it would only get harder...

A long silence.

“Just one more,” Reiko said, and passed the measuring tape around behind his head.

Soujiro took a deep breath and put on a smile to gather his courage. “It isn’t really a joke. I really am running away from the police.”

Reiko froze just as she was pinching the end back onto the measuring tape snug at his throat, which already felt tight with apprehension. After a few seconds, her knuckle against his windpipe began to ache, and the tape around his neck was threateningly uncomfortable. “Um... this is kind of...”

“Oh!” She let go and lifted it away. “I’m sorry! Just... What happened? May I ask?”

He sat down on the floor and she followed, measuring tape still in hand. He spoke hesitantly. “Well, it’s kind of... Um, have you ever heard of... No, you wouldn’t have heard of him...”

Reiko cocked her head, listening patiently.

“I was part of a group that... Well, we tried to overthrow the government,” he said, with nervous cheer.

“A revolutionary group?”

“I mean this government. The Meiji government.”

“But this is about your politics.”

“No, not really. I mean, I guess it was, kind of, but I don’t really think anything about politics. I don’t have anything against them now...”

“I don’t understand... You were involved in some protest, some crime in the past...?”

Soujiro covered his eyes with his hand, unable to face her. “It was just a year ago... I... I was their assassin...”

“What!?”

“It’s true. I was a famous swordsman. Actually my family name is Seta, and I was called ‘Tenken no Soujiro,’ so I was their assassin, and I killed people...” His face contorted around gritted teeth. “I don’t know... It’s like I did it in my sleep, but it makes me sick to think about what I’ve done... I never want to live like that again! I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore, just life my life in a place like this, but I know I can’t ask anyone to forgive me. I know I can’t ask anyone to take me in...”

“Soujiro,” Reiko asked, “who is Tomi? Is she really your sister?”

He shook his head. “I just met her this spring... She doesn’t really know about me, or have anything to do with that, but we were friends... Her father would get drunk and beat her, and finally I didn’t know what to do but take her with me. I just didn’t want her to get hurt...”

Another long silence followed. Soujiro sobbed into his hands, waiting for the inevitable blow and only daring to hope that it would come as a gentle “I think it would be best if you leave,” rather than a crushing “get out of my house, murderer!”

“Soujiro, look at me,” Reiko said at last.

“I can’t...”

Gently, she slipped her hands under his to touch his face and lift his chin. His cheeks were red and wet with ears, but his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“Please, look at me.”

He opened them only a little; their sapphire blue was magnified by brimming tears.

“You say you have this horrible past... Is that all over now? Do you really want to start again?”

He nodded into her hands, too overcome to speak.

She withdrew her hands, but supported him again with a smile. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I believe that look on your face. After all, you’re the same person you were before you told me this, and I still want that person to stay here.”

He stared at her with wide open eyes, hardly daring to believe what she was saying. “But the police... They might come for me if I stay.”

“Well, we can deal with that when the time comes,” she said. “And I can’t promise just yet, I’m afraid. We’ll have to talk it over with Junzo this evening, but I think I can bring him around.”

With a tremulous but joyful smile, he sniffled now-happy tears. “Thank you, Reiko-san!”

“Obachan,” she corrected.

“Obachan.”

“Oh, you know, I completely forgot this,” she said, picking the measuring tape back up from the floor. “Just let me re-take that right quick...”

Soujiro coughed out laughter through his tears as she measured around his neck again, holding the tape there for just a moment before pronouncing, “There. All done(15). And don’t forget your shirt here.”

**********

 **_September 24_ **

“Takani-san,” Hakata addressed Megumi through the bars of her cell, his chest striped with blocks of light from the one small window at ground level, now above their heads. “If this man threatened you, then rest assured we will take any measures necessary to assure your safety.”

“Now, how could I be threatened by someone I haven’t seen?” she asked him. “I’ve told you that already.”

He sighed hotly. “Ma’am, eyewitness reports have placed Seta at your clinic yesterday morning; now, you must have seen something then, or the previous night. Someone matching this description? Anything suspicious?”

“No.”

“Did you treat anyone with a wounded left shoulder?”

“I told you, no.”

“Takani-san, if you are covering up for this man—for any reason—you could be considered an accessory to his crimes. I don’t want this questioning to become forcible or turn into a prison sentence, but—”

He cut off at the sound of the cellblock door as one of his men ran up behind him. “Captain Hakata, we have him!”

“What?”

“Seta! He gave himself up to some of Muraki’s men. He’s on his way here now.”

“Finally!” Hakata declared. He glanced over his shoulder into the cell before talking with his back turned, in a hushed tone. “Is everything ready?”

Suspicion pulled at Megumi’s gut, and she looked away from them to hide the fact that she was listening intensely.

“Yes, sir,” the officer answered.

“The men are all agreed, then? What about Fujikake?”

“He... ah...” His voice dropped lower, and Megumi held her breath to hear him. “He’s agreed to look the other way; he just doesn’t want to fire a shot.”

She suppressed a gasp. _‘Fire a shot’...!?_

“Well, good news for you!” Hakata jolted her by turning a cheerful tone on her. “I expect you’ll be free to go very shortly.” With that, both policemen walked away and through the door, leaving her alone.

 _The others all agreed to shoot..._ The shock of realization came into focus. _To shoot Soujiro!_ And he’d turned himself in... So that they would let her free? She grasped her hair in exasperation. By the time they let her out, he would already be locked up. No way to warn him...

“Oy, Megumi!”

“Oh!” She whipped around to find Sanosuke’s face sideways in the short barred window, looking down at her. “Sanosuke!”

“How are they treating you in here?”

“It’s Soujiro!” she cried, running over to the window. “They’ve got him; he turned himself in!”

“Oh? Well, maybe that’s—”

“ _ **They’re going to kill him!!**_ ”

“Wha—!? Ow!” Sano started back and hit his forehead on the stone windowframe.

“Hakata’s group, they’re going to shoot him! I heard them planning it!”

“When!? Where!?”

“I don’t know. You have to warn him or—” The lock on the cellblock door rattled, signalling the police’s return.

“I’ll find him,” Sano said. “When they let you out, you go get Kenshin!” With that, he vanished from the window, leaving a view of rustling grass.

It was a Tokyo police officer who came to the cell door and unlocked it. “Sorry about all this, Takani-san,” the man said. “Hakata’s got his man now; you’re free to go.”

“All right,” she said as he opened the cell with a loud creak from the heavy barred door. The officer took her by the shoulder and led her out and through the lobby, where she saw Soujiro, surrounded by Hakata and his men. She passed within maybe fifteen feet of them—if she shouted across the room... Soujiro noticed her as well, and flashed her a disarming smile for only a moment before he flinched with pain at the police’s awkward attempts to shackle his wrists with his arm in a sling. She just managed to open her mouth before she was suddenly through the doorway, swallowed up into the sunlight and street noises of the open air.

“Do you want an escort home?” the policeman asked as he released her arm.

“No, no, that’s fine.” Slowly she descended the stairs of the police station. By the time she reached the street, the officer was back inside, out of sight, and she set off running for Kamiya Dojo.

**********

 **_July 7_ **

Reiko had stayed up late the last few nights to complete Soujiro’s uniform so that he could wear it for Tanabata. By that evening he was still distracted by it with every step—the kimono had narrow sleeves, he had a new shirt to match, with the cuffs and collar still crisp and stiff, and of course, the extra weight, warmth, and swinging hem of the jacket, which Tomi had already taken to chasing and grabbing onto.

Right now however, she was on the porch with Junzo-Ojisan, and they were seeing off several of the guests who were leaving for the evening, dressed in festive yukata. Soujiro caught a glimpse of them on his way to the kitchen with his arms full of dirty dishes and trays. He found Reiko there, cutting apart another watermelon.

“Here are the last of the dinner dishes. I was surprised; there weren’t so many tonight.”

“Everyone’s off at festivals right now,” she said. Funny, it’s the one time in the holiday when we aren’t busy,” she said.

He pointed to the watermelon. “Will I need to take that out, too, or should I start on the dishes?”

“Now, take it easy, bless your heart,” Reiko answered, arranging the watermelon slices on a platter. “It’s a holiday after all, and while all the guests are gone we can have a little holiday ourselves. Here, take this out to the porch. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Okay.” As instructed, he took it out and set it on the porch beside where Junzo was sitting, then stood quietly. Although Reiko had convinced Junzo to let him stay after hearing his history, he had seemed nervous around Soujiro after that and was only just beginning to relax, so Soujiro didn’t want to seem imposing.

Tomi was out in the yard, walking here and there and standing on tiptoes trying to see through the peach trees as the slivered view between their leaves revealed hints of fireworks, not so far away. The festival noises wafted faintly back to the inn, punctuated by the occasional _pop_ that blushed the trees with bright colors. “Can we go to the festival?” she asked.

“Not right now; maybe in a little bit,” Junzo said, then looked back at Soujiro. “Well, sit down. Eat. Tomi-chan! We’ve got watermelon.”

“Ooh!” she dashed over and grabbed a slice almost before Ojisan could reach over and pick one up. She took a bite and picked up another one. “Onii-chan, here!” she said around her mouthful, holding it out to Soujiro.

“Oh, thank you,” he said and took it as he sat down at the other end of the platter, moving forward as he settled down so as to drape the hanten jacket behind him and not sit on it.

“But don’t talk with your mouth full,” Junzo reminded her.

“Okay.” When Reiko came out of the inn, Tomi was sure to swallow the next bite before grabbing a slice for her. “Here, Obachan!”

“Thank you!” Reiko said, then sat on her knees behind the men. When Soujiro turned to see her, he found that she was carrying ink and a brush, and a large handful of colorful paper strips. “So what do we wish for this year?” she asked.

“A good business year,” Junzo immediately suggested.

“All right,” she said, and started writing.

“Wish for...?” Soujiro remembered the custom of tying wishes to bamboo at Tanabata, but had never done it before and was left a bit puzzled.

“Yes, what do you wish for?” Junzo asked him.

“Well, um...”

“Lots of toys!” Tomi offered.

“All right...” Reiko set the first strip aside and kept writing. “How about Happiness, I wish for a happy year.”

“And good health, always important,” Junzo added.

“I wish for my Mommy and Kotori-san to be happy in Heaven.”

“Oh, how sweet!”

Soujiro half-listened to them making their wishes as his puzzlement faded into distraction. It was a warm summer evening, and his shoulders felt hot under the new jacket. It felt strange, almost dangerous to wear it. It was a commitment, to stay here, and he wanted to stay, but wearing the uniform today, he felt strangely more distant, guarded... afraid? The uniform was like a decision to stay until driven away, and have this good life until then, but it also meant inviting the disaster to come. _I’ll stay here until it finds me..._ It was just a matter of when. One year or one day... He could dread it every moment...

Reiko brought him back to her with a gentle arm on his shoulder. “Are you all right, Sou-chan?”

“Oh, yes.” He put down the watermelon slice, which he had left untouched as it bled sticky sweet juice on his hand.

“You’re just so quiet, and not eating...”

“I’m just tired,” he said. “It’s been so busy, you know...”

“Yes, this is really the eye of the storm for us.”

During his reverie, Junzo and Tomi had gone to hang the wish-papers on a stand of bamboo along the inside of the fence, and now came back toward the porch. “Any more?” Junzo asked.

“No.”

“Onii-chan, you didn’t wish for anything!” Tomi said.

“I’m just tired, I can’t think of anything,” he said.

Another _pop_ overhead, and a wash of red glow.

“Can we go to the festival now?” Tomi pleaded.

“Well, I think your Ojisan and I can take care of things here if you kids want to go for awhile,” Reiko offered. Tomi immediately turned her begging eyes on Soujiro.

“Oh, no, no,” he said. “I really am tired...”

“Come on, please?”

“We could leave him to help your Obachan, and I could take you,” Junzo suggested.

“All right, just don’t stay out too late,” Reiko said.

“Okay!” Tomi looked back at Soujiro. “Hope you feel better soon!” And with a round of ‘goodbyes,’ she and Junzo set off, leaving Soujiro and Reiko sitting in silence for a long moment.

“Are you all right?” Reiko asked finally. “Today wasn’t so bad that you couldn’t go to the festival. Could you not sleep last night?”

“No, I just didn’t want to go,” he admitted. His mind hit upon the flimsy excuse of keeping a low profile to avoid detection, but he himself saw through that almost immediately and found himself facing the real reason—he felt sad, and he knew that a festival wouldn’t alleviate that sadness, but only intensify it by contrast. _I must be crazy_ , he thought. _All these horrible things happened to me, and still I felt happy, but now that something good is happening..._

“Is the jacket too hot, with that shirt?” Reiko wondered.

“No, no, I like it, just...”

“What’s bothering you?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

He forced a laugh. “I know, isn’t it strange? I like it here and I wanted to stay, but now I start thinking already that no matter what I do, it won’t last forever...”

“Like ‘as soon as you’re born, you have to die.’ You can’t go through your life worrying about that; you make the most of what you have.” She squeezed his shoulder gently. “It’ll be all right. If you feel so bad, I think you need to make some wishes even more than the rest of us.”

“Uh... I really don’t know...”

“Surely there’s something you could wish for, that would make you feel better?” She held out the paper strips and ink. “It can’t hurt.”

He took them and stared at the blank papers, trying to think. _I wish..._ He remembered wishes he had made at various times in the past year. _I wish I could’ve had a real family like this all along... I wish I’d never killed anyone, that I wasn’t guilty for all this..._ But those ideas seemed remote. They would be wishing that he hadn’t come to be here now, in the way that he had, and maybe it was selfish not to wish never to have killed anyone, and certainly the origin of his trouble was there, it wasn’t what he regretted now. The wish that would make this sadness, and the dread and fear within it, go away... That would be a wish for the future.

He dipped the brush and picked up a slip of paper—a blue one. “Don’t look, please?”

“Oh.” Reiko studiously turned her face away.

After a moment’s hesitation, he wrote, “To live here in peace with my family.” The wet brush glided easily on the paper and left the words in reassuringly solid black. He was at last able to smile and having made this wish real, even just as ink on paper, and carried to over to the bamboo. Once the ink was dry enough not to run, he tied it to a stalk by the light of another distant firework.

Reiko was waiting for him back on the porch, eating another watermelon slice, and he picked one up, too, as he sat down.

“What did you wish for?” she asked.

“Something impossible,” he said with a smile. “But just wishing for it makes me feel a little better.”

“You never know,” she said. “Wishes do come true sometimes.”

“I guess that’s true.” He took a bite of the watermelon from the sweet, dark red center and savored the taste, together with the coolness of the evening breeze and the fact of where he was, sitting on the porch of his home.

 _After all, this is what I wished for. Maybe, even if it’s just for a little while..._

**********

 **_September 24_ **

Soujiro was relieved to see one of the local policemen escort Megumi out, and again relieved when the federal police stopped pulling at his afflicted arm, although they seemed less than satisfied about chaining his hands in front and regarded him with hostile caution. That was to be expected, though, and he didn’t plan on making any threatening moves.

Curiously, the officer standing beside the captain—whom they called Hakata—while the other two applied the shackles looked familiar, but before he was able to place the face, a blindfold was tied over his eyes. He was still aware of his surroundings by sensation, balance, and by the sound of people moving around him, but without his eyes, it took extra attention not to stumble as they led him into the noise and breeze of outside air, down the front steps, then back up into a small compartment—he could tell it was small by the resonance of the sound. The height of the step, the shifting of the foothold, and the sensation of the seat they pushed him into meant a horse-drawn carriage.

“Where are we going?” he asked as the carriage lurched into motion.

“You’ll find out when we get there,” came a voice. It sounded nervous and vaguely familiar, and he realized it matched the familiar face.

With the new clue and a moment’s thought, he was able to place it. “Fujikake-san! You stayed at—”

“Shut up!” someone ordered.

“Okay.” He settled back in the seat to wait out the trip quietly. Not knowing where he was going or what would happen, his heart fluttered with nervous anticipation, but he knew it was the right way to go, to stop running... Being in their hands at last was strangely relieving, and he settled into the seat with a contented if unsteady smile.

Within minutes, much sooner than he expected, the carriage slowed to a stop. He heard the doors open, and cried out at the burst of pain as one of the men dragged him out by his left arm. They led him away in that direction, and he imagined they would put him on a train or boat for the next leg of the journey, but as he walked there was no sound of engine or water, and their foosteps resonated in a close space. Why? He felt his heart pounding in his chest. _They’re going to kill me! These are my last moments alive. No, I’m overreacting._ It had to be something else...

The police gave him one last push from behind, and he felt a solid wall looming within inches, just in time not to hit it. He touched it with his hands—solid brick—and the sounds were like an enclosed space, a blind alley. What other possible reason...? The moment felt like hours before his terrified curiosity got the better of him and he bowed his head until his chained right hand could reach and push the blindfold up a little. The first motion of his eye found close walls on three sides.

“You might want to leave that on,” Hakata said behind him.

Soujiro turned toward his voice amid a chorus from leather holsters and found himself looking into the barrels of three revolvers.

 _to be continued..._

Footnotes:

13\. Semori: literally “back protector”; this is an embroidery motif added on the back of a garment as a sort of charm to “protect the wearer from evil influences”, usually seen on children’s garments or ones with no center-back seam, according to Make Your Own Japanese Clothes by John Marshall.

14\. see Fuyumatsu.

15\. Just to note on this scene, the measurements Reiko is taking are somewhat based on the ones required by the patterns by John Marshall that I have for kimono and hakama (in the book Make Your Own Japanese Clothes and the out-of-print Folkwear hakama pattern)—and yes, designing a kimono for someone with that pattern does indeed use the measurement around their neck.


	6. Changing Leaves, part 6 (final)

Changing Leaves  
Part Six

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

 **  
_September 24_   
**

“NO! PLEASE!”

“Ready,” Hakata ordered. Three hammers clicked into position.

Soujiro sized up the tableau in a fraction of a second. Fujikake was standing behind the others, his back turned. Shuku-chi—Soujiro could get a good push off the wall; he was fast enough to get past them and escape, but then it would be the same thing all over again. “Please, don’t!” he cried, not moving from the spot. “I won’t fight you! I won’t run away anymore!”

“Aim.”

“No!” _I’m going to die I’m going to die..._ The panic stretched his lips into a giddy grin and he pleaded through terrified laughter. “Ple-hee-hease, don’t kill me-hee-hee!” He squeezed his eyes shut.

The next sound jolted him as he knew it must be the fire command, the end—but it was Fujikake’s voice.

“You! Stop! _**Freeze!**_ ”

 _  
**POW!**   
_

Soujiro opened his eyes to see Sanosuke complete the arc of his punch in a flourish of black and white, sending Fujikake flying into one of the other officers. Another spun with his pistol just in time to take an uppercut, leaving only Hakata, who dodged out of the way and kept his gun trained on Soujiro.

Soujiro saw him and backed into the corner, still choosing not to run. Just as he knew the bullet would come in the next moment, the character ‘bad’ filled his vision as Sanosuke threw himself between him and the gun.

“Put it away!” Sano shouted. “I’m not gonna let you do this!”

“Get out of the way!” Hakata ordered, unflinching in his aim. “That man is a dangerous criminal!”

“I know who he is better than you do. I was there a year ago when he fought with Kenshin.” Sano turned his head just a little toward Soujiro, not taking his eyes off his opponent. “What are you doing back there!? Shuku-chi! Run!”

“No!”

“Move!” Hakata repeated. “I’ll try to do this without killing you, but I don’t know what a ricochet might do in that corner.”

“Sagara-san,” Soujiro cried, “please, just do what he says!”

“Are you crazy!? He’s going to kill you!”

“I don’t want to run away anymore! Tomi-chan, and everyone—”

“Tomi!?” Sano cut him off. “You think she’ll be happy when this guy shoots you in the head!?”

“I know... And I don’t want to die, but even that would be better... When we ran away from the inn, I was carrying her, with her head on this shoulder... I know the bullet almost went through... No matter what, I can’t do that anymore...”

“I see where you’re coming from,” Sano replied, in a calmer, steady tone. “If you want to get arrested, that’s fine, but as long as I’m here, I’m not gonna let you die. After all, I promised I’d protect Tomi-chan, and if anything happened to you, she’d cry, so as far as I’m concerned, that promise includes you.”

As he spoke, Sanosuke kept his eyes on Hakata, who stood listening, pistol still trained on them in steady silence, but his trigger-hand had slightly relaxed, and his face had opened up just slightly from his grim focus.

At the sound of footsteps, Sano glanced up the alley, then turned his head. “Well it’s about time you showed up.”

Soujiro turned to see. “Eh...? Himura-san!”

Kenshin hurried down the alley, dodging lightly between the unconscious officers to come up beside Hakata. “What’s happening here? Hakata-dono, were you ordered to do this?”

For the first time, Hakata gaped at him, tongue-tied.

“That’s a no,” Sano pointed out.

“But if I don’t, no one will!” Hakata burst out. “If anyone else... The men who took the blame for Okubo’s death, they were killed; that’s the law, but this... I was told to bring Tenken no Soujiro in alive, because they wanted a bargain! They wanted his skills! A year ago, I saw it happen with the others... It’s like saying if a killer is skilled enough, it isn’t a crime, like saying Shishio was right, and _I_ won’t say that! Not again, and not with the worst of them all...” His fingers tightened nervously around the handle of the gun, but not the trigger.

“So it’s only justice if Soujiro dies?” Kenshin asked.

“That’s the law,” Hakata said with desperate calm. “We can’t afford to place anyone above the law.”

“You and your hypocritical crap!” Sano shouted. “You call _this_ playing by the letter of the law!?

“ _ **Silence!**_ ”

“Hakata-dono.” Kenshin took one step forward with flawless serenity, lay his hand on Hakata’s revolver, and turned until he was holding its muzzle against his own chest through the loose-hanging collar of his kimono. Soujiro only managed a small sound of surprise before he was struck speechless. “If you really believe that Soujiro has to die for what he did, then you should shoot,” Kenshin said.

“Shit, I hate when he gets like this...” Sano muttered.

But Hakata was now plainly thrown off balance. “I didn’t mean that I would sacrifice someone like you for—”

“I know; I didn’t mean that either,” Kenshin replied. “I said this because Soujiro and I are the same. He under Shishio and I in the Bakumatsu, we each let ourselves be blinded by an agenda and killed and did horrible things. I realized my mistake, and have tried to live my life in a better way. You said yourself, I know Soujiro’s mind better than you do, and now I see him trying to make amends for his sins, on the same path that brought me to the precious life I have now, and I want him to have the same chance that I had. If justice is to kill him, or me, it won’t repair any of our mistakes, it will only be more death, more people who will be heartbroken to lose us.

“Because of that, I should apologize for decieving you, Hakata-dono,” he said. “I told you I couldn’t help you find Soujiro because I was the one who was hiding him from you.”

“Himura-san! Don’t!” Soujiro protested, stepping out from behind Sanosuke. Across the distance, his eyes met Hakata’s, which were very changed and open with confusion, open enough to look Soujiro in the eyes for the first time.

Kenshin turned his head and lifted his hand into view—he was holding Hakata’s gun now. “Thank you, Soujiro, but I’ll be fine. Sano, take Soujiro back to the dojo.”

“Sure thing.” Sanosuke took Soujiro by the waist and steered him back up the alley. Soujiro kept his eyes fixed on Hakata and Kenshin, but didn’t resist.

“Wait—” Hakata called out a half-hearted objection.

“Do you trust me?” Kenshin asked him, and offered his pistol back. Hakata sighed and took it, and was putting it away in his holster as Soujiro was pushed around the corner and the alley vanished from sight.

“Come on,” Sano urged. He took Soujiro’s right hand and tried to lead him by it, but the shackles pulled his left arm along, too, and he cried out in pain. “Damn! Sorry about that.” Sano took one of the wrist-cuffs in his hand and aimed his knuckles at it. “Can’t let Tomi-chan see these, anyway.(16)

**********

 **  
_July 7_   
**

The fireworks were all over by the time Junzo came back to the inn. With a lantern in one hand, he carried Tomi—asleep with a pinwheel tucked under her arm—up the path from the gate as Reiko waited on the porch.

“I told you not to stay out too late,” Reiko chided softly. “Poor little Tomi, she’s all worn out.”

“She had fun, though,” Junzo whispered. “Where’s Soujiro?”

“He went to bed early.”

“I can see that, with how he was acting...”

Quietly, they went inside, where the lantern light turned the walls from blue to yellow. Junzo carried Tomi into the room that she and Soujiro still shared and quietly tucked her into bed as Soujiro lay sleeping, curled up on his side just a few feet away. He left them both to their dreams and snuck out of the room again. “Soujiro... is he all right?” he asked Reiko after he closed the door of the room. “Too tired to make Tanabata wishes, something’s wrong...”

“He did make one after you left, and it seemed to perk him up a little.”

“Oh? What did he wish for?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”

Junzo paused for a moment, then walked out the the porch again and crossed the yard to the stand of bamboo.

“Now, honey, if he wants to keep it to himself...” Reiko protested, following at his heels.

“Come, now, don’t tell me you aren’t curious.” Since Junzo had hung up most of the other wishes, it didn’t take him long to find Soujiro’s. He squinted at the blue paper in the lantern-light for a moment, then smiled and started back toward the inn.

Reiko hesitated, but at last the curiosity was irresistible and she held the wish where she could read it. _‘Something impossible’..._

When she had seen what was written on the paper, she released it gently and followed her husband back inside, but with a more somber attitude.

**********

 **  
_September 25_   
**

It was very late at night before Tomi fell asleep and Soujiro, when he felt he had sufficiently memorized the image of her innocent slumber, crept quietly from the room and out to the porch of the dojo. There was a taste of autumn chill in the breeze that rustled the blue and silver leaves in the moonlight.

Kenshin was there, sitting cross-legged with his sakabatou propped between one knee and one shoulder. With his head bowed and his eyes closed, he looked asleep, but when Soujiro came close to him, he raised his head. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes. I told Tomi-chan that I’d go after she fell asleep, so she stayed awake until just a little while ago.”

“Where are you going?”

Soujiro sat down next to him and looked up at the stars. “Back to Kyoto.”

“Kyoto?”

He nodded. “To the police there. The more I think about it, the more I think that going to them is what I have to do now. It’s something I have to face and get to the other side of, before my wish can come true. That’s where I want to be going, to the place where my wish comes true. Not just for a little while, but so that I can keep it, for my whole life...” He turned to Kenshin. “Thank you so much for taking care of Tomi-chan, and for helping me. What happened with Hakata-san, anyway? I was sure he’d come, since he knew where I was.”

“Our encounter confused him greatly. He told me he was going to confess to the incident and resign.”

“Really?” Soujiro asked. “Ahh! You and Sagara-san scared me, getting in front of that gun!”

“Do you think you didn’t scare us?” Kenshin asked him. “When I stepped in front of him, I was certain he wouldn’t kill me, but he would surely have killed you. I know that you could have saved yourself, but you weren’t trying to.”

Soujiro laughed awkwardly. “Yeah... I feel bad for making you rescue me like that...”

“It isn’t that,” Kenshin said, and fixed him with an intense gaze. “Listen, Soujiro, don’t forget that you are also part of what you’re protecting. Your family in Yokohama, Tomi-dono, and all of us here... If at the end of this, we lose you, then we haven’t won, so don’t be too willing to sacrifice yourself. Remember that when you get to Kyoto.”

Soujiro laughed again. “Don’t worry; I think it’ll be fine. Hakata-san said they wanted to bargain with me, and that’s why I’m going back to Kyoto. This year I’ve stayed away from there because so many people there know me, but that’ll make it hard for someone to do something to me secretly like that. And also... For ten years I looked at Kyoto all the time, but I never felt anything when I saw it. I hear it’s a beautiful city, and when I try to picture it, it seems that way, but... I always wanted to see it again, just to know how it felt...”

“I understand.”

Soujiro looked out at the rustling trees again and smiled, but as moments passed, a stronger gust of wind shook a swirl of leaves from the branches. His smile faded. “Sometimes I wonder...”

“What?”

“If there was something to what Hakata-san said. If it’s really fair... You talked about atoning for my sins and here I’m chasing a peaceful, happy life... Maybe I shouldn’t have that. Maybe after everything I did, I don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t think that’s so.”

“But after all, it took you ten years...” Soujiro said. “Sometimes my mind says I’m stupid, to think it could be so easy, but... My heart says maybe it’s enough, just to do some small thing that makes people happy...”

“You should listen to your heart,” Kenshin said.

“You really think so?”

He nodded. “I know I’ve done the best I can to make amends, and when I think about it, the best parts of that weren’t the great difficult things. The truth came from the small moments, sharing my life and happiness with everyone, with the people who became my family.”

Soujiro laughed. “Are you just telling me what I want to hear?”

“No. I mean that completely.”

“That’s good to hear! I know that’s what I want, right or wrong... But it’s good to hear someone tell me it’s okay,” he said, turning a luminous smile to the stars.

The two of them sat like that for a moment.

“Soujiro, look at me,” Kenshin said.

“Eh?” Soujiro turned, his face still glowing.

Kenshin smiled back at him. “It’s wonderful to see your face when you’re really happy.”

“Is it? It’s so different... The way I was, I never felt sadness or fear, but I also never felt like this...” He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. “I’m so happy for the way I am now... Thank you so much, Himura-san.”

Kenshin shook his head. “You made yourself this way. I’m only honored if I could help.”

Soujiro sat for a long moment with his eyes closed, listening to the wind ruffle the leaves. At last he took a deep breath and roused himself. “I’d better go before I fall asleep!” he said, and stood.

Kenshin rose and walked with him to the gate. “Good luck,” he said. “Please write when you get to Kyoto. I want to know how everything goes.”

“Okay. And I’ll come back as soon as I can.” He clasped Kenshin’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“Then, goodbye,” Soujiro said with a smile, and set off down the street.

“Goodbye,” Kenshin replied.

“Sleep tight!”

“Safe journey!”

Kenshin watched Soujiro walk away into the night until his white kimono became just a shifting patch of blue, then pulled the gate of the dojo shut and barred the door for the night. He agreed with Soujiro’s reasons for turning himself in, and now he knew that doing so wasn’t walking into a death sentence. The situation seemed to be looking up, but he couldn’t quite share Soujiro’s optimism. As he went back inside, he still felt uneasy about it...

**********

 **  
_July 7_   
**

Soujiro vaguely heard Reiko and Junzo’s footsteps in the hallway, and felt a warm light through his eyelids as the door was opened. He heard Junzo lay Tomi on her futon with a gentle shuffling of cloth that echoed loudly in the night stillness. As the light slid away, he heard the old couple’s voices, muffled through the door, and he didn’t bother trying to puzzle out their words.

When their voices and foosteps faded away, he still lay awake, staring at the insides of his eyelids. He was still distracted. How long would this taste of heaven last? After all, he was working room service now. A lot of people would come and go and see him—a lot of chances to be recognized, and him a sitting target. It seemed so stupid to do it, but...

The shuffling of Tomi’s kakefuton brought him back to the present. “Onii-chan? Are you asleep?” Her whisper in the dark reached his ears more clearly than full-voiced speech in the daylight.

“No,” he whispered.

She crawled quietly-loudly over to him and lay on his upraised shoulder as a sort of hug. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“But you wouldn’t go to the festival with me,” she argued. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, no!” he assured her, and turned onto his back so he could face her. “I just felt kind of bad... because I was thinking about my wish.”

“You didn’t make any wishes.”

“I did one, after you left.”

“Oh?” She sat back with a more playful tone. “What is it? What did you wish for?”

“Well... I can’t tell you.”

“Aww! Why not?”

“It was just... It was dumb of me. I wished for something I know I can’t have. It was the only thing I wanted...”

“And that’s why you’re sad?”

He nodded.

“But if you could have that one thing, then you’d be happy?”

“Yes. Very happy.”

She sat for a long time pondering. “Is it a pony?”

Soujiro laughed out loud, and his laughter rang so loudly in the dark that it seemed it must wake the whole city. “No, it’s nothing like that! It isn’t something I want to own, just something I want to have, in my life...” He knew that didn’t make sense.

But with Tomi’s next guess, she seemed to understand. “Is it a kiss?”

“Eh?”

“A kiss. Would it make you happy if I gave you a kiss?”

He smiled broadly. “That wasn’t the wish, but yes. That would make me happy.”

Tomi bent low over his face and gave him a dry, gentle kiss on the cheek. He smiled at the warm tickle of her breath on his cheek and his neck, and the just-barely-scratchy sensation of her hair through his nemaki as she lay her head on his shoulder and snuggled up against him. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, much better,” he said.

“I’m glad,” she said through a yawn.

Soujiro lay quietly for some time. Tomi’s warmth against him, the rhythm of her breath, the wind sighing through the peach trees outside with a sound like ruffling ocean waves... It wrapped him in peaceful softness and deep contentment. The moment felt like an eternity in Heaven all in itself, and although Soujiro knew it wasn’t as invulnerable as it seemed, who could ask for more than this?

 _After all, this is what I wished for_ , he told himself again. How had he managed to make a wish at once impossible and already true? _I know, at least for a little while, my wish can come true..._ He closed his eyes and let himself drift away toward warm, soft sleep.

 _And I can just enjoy it... for as long as it lasts..._

**********

 **  
_September 27_   
**

When Yahiko had put away his dojo gear and gotten dressed in his everyday clothes, he walked past the porch. Kaoru sat there with her arm around Tomi, and they and Sanosuke watched Ayame and Suzume play hopscotch in the yard.

“Tomi-chan, come play this time!” Suzume called.

“Um, not right now...” Tomi said, and leaned on Kaoru more.

“Oy, Yahiko. Where are you going?” Sano asked.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” he said.

“Well, check what Kenshin’s up to in the kitchen, huh? I’m hungry already.”

 _The kitchen._ Yahiko ran to the kitchen door and opened it; sure enough, Kenshin was inside, hurriedly scrubbing cookware. Yahiko entered and closed the door slowly.

“I’ll start on dinner soon,” Kenshin assured him, turning with his left cheek, where the handprint bruise covering his cross-scar had turned blotchy and sallow. “I just put off washing these things and now I need them...”

“Um, Kenshin, I was... I wanted to ask you...”

“What is it?”

“Well, the other day, Sanosuke was telling me about when you fought Soujiro before, with Shishio.”

“Ah, I see.”

“But I mean, even if he hadn’t held back, you still would have won, right?” he blurted. “I mean, he couldn’t beat your succession technique, so...” His words suddenly ran dry and he trailed off.

Kenshin paused for a moment, considering as he scrubbed. “No.”

“What?”

“If Soujiro had used his full strength on me from the first, I’m sure I would have died too soon to use my succession technique. This scar on my back... If he’d been resolved to do it, at that moment, he would’ve cut me in two.”

“But... But you broke his resolve, right? So that’s...”

“In this case, that’s a pretty way of saying that he didn’t kill me because he didn’t want to. At most, I made him realize that.”

Yahiko paused for a moment as Kenshin started rinsing the dishes in clear water.

“But I’m sure you could beat him now!” Yahiko insisted. “When he was here, he got emotional so easy, you could read him like an open book!”

“Probably, but he’s still faster than me, and I don’t think he’s lost much of his technique. And if I had to fight him now, I’m sure it would be something he was fighting for with his whole heart.” He scooped a pile of chopped vegetables into the clean pot and turned to show Yahiko a smile. “Thankfully, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that,” he said. “I’m glad that Soujiro is our friend now.”

“Oh... yeah.” Yahiko hesitantly agreed.

Kenshin handed him a bowl with more ingredients before picking up the pot again. “Can you help me carry this all out? I’m sure everyone’s getting impatient.”

**********

 **  
_September 15_   
**

“Soujiro! Come out here, please?” Reiko called over the low wail of a distant train-whistle.

Soujiro dried off his hands and left the dishes sitting as he hurried out to her. She was standing under one of the peach trees by the front path, and like all the others now, its boughs dipped slightly under the weight of the blushing, plump fruits.

“What is it, Obachan?”

“I wanted to be sure and show you how to pick the peaches before they’re all gone.”

“Oh,” he said happily, and took hold of one. “What do I do, then?”

“First you have to find a ripe one,” she said. “Don’t look at the blush, look at the under-color, by the stem.” She took the one he was holding and pointed. “See, this one’s not ready. You want one that doesn’t look green here, and it should have just a little bit of give, but don’t squeeze it.” She turned toward the inn at the sound of footsteps. “Ah, Fujikake-san, you’re leaving?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fujikake answered, pausing beside them on his way to the gate, with his pack over his shoulder.

“I hope you enjoyed your stay?”

“Yes, very much. Unfortunately I have to be on my way now.”

“I understand. Please, come again anytime.”

“Thank you,” Fujikake said. “So...”

“Wait a second,” Soujiro said. He’d been searching among the branches and finally plucked a peach and offered it to him. “Here,” he said, smiling brightly.

“Ah, thank you,” Fujikake said, taking it.

“Now, this is his first time, so try to understand if it’s bitter,” Reiko cautioned.

He took a bite. “No, it’s very good.”

“I’m glad!” Soujiro said.

“Well then, goodbye!” Fujikake said, and started down the path again.

Soujiro and Reiko saw him off with a chorus of “Goodbye! Safe trip! Come back again!” He could still hear Reiko’s voice behind him across the yard. “Here’s one.” A snap as it broke from the branch. “Try it. Go ahead, just bite right into it.”

Fujikake turned as he pushed the gate open and caught a glimpse of Soujiro laughing and wiping juice off his chin before he shut the gate behind him and set off walking for the nearest police station.

After a weeklong stay at the inn, everything fit; there was no mistaking it. That young man matched the description of “Tenken no Soujiro”—Fujikake had even seen him one evening while his uniform was being washed, wearing the blue kimono the reports described. He hadn’t seen him fight, but the way he moved with his arms full of balanced trays—he seemed to have the kind of fine control of his body that a sword-master would have. And the girl with him, named Tomi and matching the descriptions of the kidnapped Inoue Tomi... It couldn’t be a coincidence. It all fit together.

Except the peach. Except the openness with which Soujiro had offered it to him. Except Tomi running after him calling “Onii-chan!”, and him carrying her around on his shoulders, and the old couple fussing over the two of them as if it were their own children. It was a far cry from what he’d expected, a hardened, emotionless killer... Calling the rest of his unit here to raid such a peaceful, friendly kind of place... He felt uncertain about it, in a way he hadn’t prepared himself for. _Well, it’s not for me to decide_ , he told himself as he came to the police station and went inside.

“Can I help you, sir?” one of the local officers asked him.

“Yes, you can,” he said, and produced from his pack the case that concealed his identification and his gun. The man started slightly when Fujikake opened it to show him. “I’m with the federal police. I need to send an urgent wire to the police headquarters in Kyoto, to Captain Hakata.”

“Of course! Right this way.”

He started to follow, but paused as he realized that he still had the peach in his hand. The one bite he’d taken from it was juicy and sweet. It seemed like a waste, but as he looked down at it, he knew it would sit heavily in his stomach if he ate it, so with a sigh, he tossed it into a wastebasket and followed the local officer back to the telegraph machine.

**********

 **  
_October 7_   
**

Little by little, the Kyoto skyline emerged over the crest of the hill. When at last it was fully in view, Soujiro paused and looked down at it. A shimmering sea of buildings stretching on and on, presided over the the old temples whose roofs curled upward at the corners like leaves toward the morning sun. _It really is a beautiful city_ , he thought, but the thrill in his heart was only half admiration, the other half fear. Today he’d be in Kyoto again, and he’d surrender himself to the police, finally. Today would determine where his life would turn from here...

But whatever turns it might take, in the end, he knew where he was going. Back to Yokohama. Back to his family and his Tanabata wish. He didn’t know how far he would have to go, but he would get there, someday...

He looked down and saw brown fallen leaves blowing across the road, collecting in drifts against the grass on one side. _It looks like Autumn has really started now..._ The dry leaves crackled and broke under his sandals as he started down the hill toward Kyoto.

 _Owari_

 _Author's Note:_ That "Owari" means that this is the end of "Changing Leaves." These events will be continued in more "Autumn Arc" stories, which will be posted as additional chapters here, so watch for more updates to this story in the coming months.

Footnotes:

16\. Since my fanfiction really ignores all the canon after the Kyoto Arc, which was over a year ago, I think it’s safe to assume that Sano has his Futae no Kiwami back...


	7. Akaku Irozuku

Akaku Irozuku  
"To Turn Red"

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

From the hill overlooking it, Kyoto was a breathtaking sight, but walking down its commercial streets, it looked far more ordinary. The shifting patchwork of commuters’ kimono, the shopkeepers shouting out the same wares as they would anywhere—Soujiro felt reassuringly grounded by the plainness of the moment as for him, both apprehensions about the future and memories of the past lurked around every corner.

He knew he had walked these streets before. Maybe something had happened, right around here... He didn’t remember anything clearly, but the supposition was enough for the ghosts to flit across his mind. Policemen in the way of—what had it been, even? Ruby-red streams inching forward across the pavement, crimson blot in cloth starting to feather at the edges... The images were just flickers behind his eyes, barely connected, but surely ready to unite and spring on him if he actually came to that place and looked at it. Better to look at the kiosks ahead and smile at the flowers for sale and the smell of still-warm bread.

The walk itself was unexpected, though. Walking into the city off-guard and intending surrender, he had half-expected to be snapped up by the police within moments of setting foot in Kyoto again, but so far, no one seemed to recognize or notice him, and so it was up to him what to do next. Of course, he knew that by the end of the day, he would go to the police station and present himself if the freedom lasted that long, but in the meantime...

The meantime was so short, the city so full of possibilities, each one now bearing the allure of “last chance.” After this short time, no telling what options might or might not be open.

His stomach growled from eating light on the road. He didn’t really feel like food, but still, it was one last chance to have a nice meal in a restaurant. He’d have preferred Reiko-obachan’s cooking, but that was already beyond possibility. When he’d lived in this area, the flavor of food had meant nothing to him. After waking up from that, everything seemed to taste good, so he still easygoing about it, but back then there was no such thing as a favorite dish, a favorite restaurant. _Places to eat in Kyoto..._ , trying to think of one that was in any way significant...

 _Aoiya._

He laughed at himself aloud for even thinking it, but in the next moment, he knew it was a good idea. After all, he wasn’t worried about avoiding detection. Like going back to his childhood home, surely it would be best to take this one last day here in Kyoto to settle accounts, although doing so now was even more frightening, to come face-to-face with old enemies, with people who not only knew about his sins but had been the ones harmed by them.

But now, having had the idea, he knew that it was best, and that he would feel deservedly guilty if he avoided it for the sake of his own comfort, so he set out for his chosen destination at a more purposeful pace.

**********

“Okina!” Masu called to him as Misao was walking past the kitchen with him. “I thought I should tell you, one of the customers was asking for Aoshi-sama.”

“Who was it?” Misao asked, cutting forward.

“I don’t know his name, but it’s the man eating alone in the corner, with his arm in a sling.(1) I told him Aoshi-sama was gone and he seemed all right with it, but...”

“And he didn’t say anything about what his business was?” Okina asked.

Masu shook her head.

Misao had already gone over to one of the doorways into the dining area, easing slowly into the angle where she could just see the corner booth. Even from across the room, a glimpse of the person’s face was enough to make her back off with a gasp.

“Misao?” Okina noticed her reaction.

“Whatever he wants with Aoshi-sama, I’m sure it’s nothing good,” she said quietly, coming back over. “That’s Seta Soujiro!”

“Ah! Shishio’s...?” Masu asked.

Misao nodded. “The smiling psycho killer, yeah.”

“I see,” Okina said calmly. His voice was more serious and his eyes had narrowed slightly. “Misao, stay here.”

“But—”

“Let me take care of this,” he said, and set out for the corner of the dining room.

**********

Soujiro savored the tonkatsu slowly, chewing every bite with his eyes closed to appreciate the crisp breading of the pork and the gummy texture of well-cooked rice. He smiled contentedly at it.

The sound of footsteps came up beside his table and stopped on the other side of it. He opened his eyes to see a tall, straight old man with a bow in his pointed beard sit down across from him. “Do you mind if I sit here and talk with you?”

“Not at all,” Soujiro said. “You’re Kashiwazaki Nenji, called Okina, right?”

“That’s right, Heaven-Sword Soujiro.”

He laughed. “I knew you’d recognize me here. I don’t want to cause you any trouble, really, I just want to eat, so if you wouldn’t call the police just yet, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I know that you didn’t come here just for the food,” Okina said. “This is the first time in over a year that you’ve been seen in Kyoto, and then you come here and ask to talk to Aoshi.”

“Oh, that was...” Soujiro started, trailed off, and tried again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to tell him one thing, before...”

“What?”

Soujiro looked down at his tonkatsu. “I just wanted to tell him that I was sorry. When he was involved with Shishio-san, the truth is, that was something I did, so...”

 _“So if we attack his restaurant, Aoiya—” Houji said._

 _“We can use that new torture thing to make him talk, right?” Soujiro surmised, smiling brightly as ever._

 _“What do you say?” Shishio asked Aoshi. “Do you care if we send your Okina to Hell?”_

Soujiro started back, shaking his head to get free of the memory. “Sorry, I was distracted... But really, to you, too, and everyone here, I should apologize. Maybe it doesn’t really do anything, for me to come here and say that, but...”

“At the least, you should look someone in the face when you say such a thing,” Okina told him.

He laughed again, nervously. “That’s right, isn’t it?” The memory flash dragged at his bones, and it took a determined act of will and strength to lift his head and look the old man steadily in the eyes. “The things I did when I was with Shishio-san... Now I know that I was wrong, and everyone here was hurt by my mistake. I can’t take it back, what I did, but I’m really sorry...”

Okina nodded. “I accept your apology.”

Soujiro stared at him for a moment in disbelief before he let out his breath with one unsteady laugh and a sigh at the release of effort. “Thank you...”

“What is it that’s going to happen?”

“Eh?”

“You said you wanted to tell Aoshi this ‘before...’ what?”

“Oh, before I go to jail,” he said. “I came back to Kyoto to turn myself in to the police.”

“I see. Because you’ve forsaken Shishio’s way?”

“Eh? Well, it isn’t quite like that,” Soujiro said. “Really, I’m not even sure what I think now, about Shishio-san. He’ll always be my master who saved my life. I’ll always think of him as a great man. Now, though, I disagree with a lot of what he did and said, but if I want to live in a different way, I don’t need the police to make me do it. It’s just that I’m tired of being a fugitive. I don’t want to just keep running from them by myself, so I have to turn myself in and face it. Even if it’s twenty-five years in prison or something like that, I have to get to the other side of it...”

“Are you prepared for what might happen to you, if you put yourself in their hands?”

Soujiro paused for a moment, then nodded. “I heard what they did with everyone else, and just lately that they wanted to bargain with me. I’m sure it’ll work out to something I could live with.”

“I do hope so,” Okina said.

Soujiro half-heartedly pushed the tonkatsu around on his plate with his chopsticks before putting one last piece in his mouth. He chewed it slowly—the taste was still just as good, but he found it difficult to swallow. “The food here is really delicious,” he said when he had finally managed it.

“Thank you.”

“...But I just don’t feel like eating anymore, right now...”

“It’s all right if you want to take your time,” Okina told him. “Aoshi will be back before long and you could talk to him.”

Soujiro shook his head slowly, and turned to face the glow of the nearby window. “I think I want to get outside and feel the sun and the breeze for awhile. Then I’ll go to the police station.” He turned back to face Okina. “How much is it?”

“Don’t worry about it; I can add it to your tab.”

“Areh?”

“And you can pay it, when you come here again,” the old man told him, with a knowing smile.

Soujiro understood and smiled brightly. “Okay,” he said, and stood. “For this, after everything, thank you so much.” As Okina rose, Soujiro bowed to him deeply from the waist.

“You’re welcome.”

“So, I’ll see you later,” he said, and started for the door.

**********

Misao stole glances through the kitchen doorway as Okina and Soujiro spoke, but it was too far away to hear what they were saying over the bubbling, sizzling kitchen sounds, and she only caught Soujiro’s occasional laughter—which hardly seemed like a good sign. At last, she looked out to find them both standing, and withdrew into the kitchen as Soujiro walked past.

The moment he was safely gone, she charged out into the dining room, where Okina was walking slowly toward her. “Jiya, what is it? What did he want Aoshi-sama for!?”

“He only wanted to leave a message,” Okina said.

“What was it?”

“‘I’m sorry.’”

Misao stared at him for a moment, then suddenly her face clamped tight in consternation. She whipped around and ran for the door, after Soujiro.

“Misao, wait!” Okina called after her, but she dashed out, unheeding.

Masu diffidently stepped out of the kitchen. “It looks like she thought you were the one apologizing.”

**********

Soujiro was able to use the crowds milling around the street to buffer himself from the violent memories still threatening from every bend and alley, but before long, the noisy city began to feel stifling, and he knew he wanted more open air. Out in the forest... _Well, one last time..._ He turned off the main busy streets in the familiar direction. The memory of the way from here to the shrine in the mountains had a strange sensation from over a year of disuse, but came back with total clarity.

As he walked out through the fading edge of the city, he knew that he was being followed. He was only able to catch slight glimpses of his “shadow,” but it wasn’t hard to recognize the unusual clothes of the girl he’d seen in the kitchen at Aoiya. _That would be Makimachi Misao. Well, it’s okay if she follows me._ With a smile of slight amusement, he set out into the surrounding woods, but he was glad that he had already noticed her. How many “tails” had he bloodily severed in this forest? If the sensation of being followed had come upon him here, it would have touched those memories in a frightening way.

But as it was, he didn’t care, and lifted his head to the cool autumn breeze as he walked leisurely. As he looked up, branches swayed slightly against the sky, their variegated leaves brushing with a dry rattle so abundant that it made that soft, soothing music. _Even in this place, things like this were happening all the time, right in front of my face and I never saw it..._ On a whim, he walked over to one of the trunks and felt its rough bark, rubbing between his fingers and inhaling the earthy scent of the dust it left on his hand. Maybe his sword had nailed someone to this tree at some time in the past—several trees along this path had seen that happen—but now it was beautiful and ordinary, and didn’t seem to be holding any grudges. He looked up and smiled, both at this view of the trunk reaching upward to the sky with boughs radiating out, and also at the thought of what Misao behind him must be thinking, watching him do this.

Some of the leaves hung within reach, and he found one that was still verdant green and held it, gently stroking it with his fingers for a moment and savoring its deep green color, its coolness and moisture, still clinging on amid the advancing autumn red and brown.

He remained aware of those sensations as he continued up toward the mountain, and the entire forest seemed very changed—but he knew it was himself that was very changed, and in fact the sensation felt all the more precious for the fact that the woods looked exactly the same, enough that he could coast along the remembered route. But as he came near the mountain, the familiarity faded and left him stranded, and he looked around curiously. _I know I didn’t take a wrong turn, but didn’t the stone path start here...?_ Instead, he walked through thin underbrush and saplings in a swath between the taller trees, where the path would have been. It led him though an area growing back around charred husks of tree trunks, and into an unyielding wall of mountain stones.

It was all so strange, but the charred trees—that was from the fire that destroyed the fortress. _I know it was here..._ He lifted his hand to the stone and found it rough and sharp-edged. Somewhere on the other side of these rocks had been that wide, tatami-floored room, filled with yellow-white light from the afternoon sun...

 _Soujiro gripped his head; his mind was blazing out of control as he looked up at Himura. “Your existence disgusts me! You’re driving me crazy!! **Even if it’s right or wrong, I don’t care!!!** ” he screamed. “ **This time I’m going to KILL YOU!!!** ”_

Soujiro snapped back to attention as he heard a breath behind him, too deep in tone to be Misao. He whipped around and saw that someone had taken advantage of his distraction to come dangerously close. A tall man stood there, with slicked-back black hair and a battle-worn face. He wore a police uniform—and a katana.

“It isn’t here anymore,” Saitou said.

“Eh?”

“After you were all defeated, the government’s policy became that Shishio Makoto had never existed, so this place also had to be erased. The entrance was blasted, what the fire had left of the six gates was pulled down and hauled away, and even the stones in the path here were pulled up and carried off. They tilled the ground and planted these trees to cover it. In ten years, it will look like nothing was ever here.”

“Oh, really...?” Soujiro could see now that it was true, by the fresh roughness of the stones where the entrance had been, the thinness of the ground-cover where the path had been, thinner even than what had burned, and the too-regular size and spacing of the new trees. “Maybe it’s better that way,” he said, with a wistful smile at the rock. “But it’s a little sad, for me... Like saying those ten years of my life never happened...”

Saitou raised an eyebrow when Soujiro uttered the word “sad.” “If you ask them, they’d be happy to say that none of your life ever happened,” he told him. “You were an idiot to come back here.”

Soujiro shook his head. “Not really. It’s fine with me that you found me. In fact, that’s the reason why I came back here to Kyoto.”

“Hm...?”

He offered his right hand, open and palm-up. “I surrender.”

“I see.” Saitou sized him up carefully, then seized his left hand, twisting the cloth sling as he raised it up and Soujiro cried in pain.

“These bones don’t seem to be broken.”

“It’s the shoulder,” Soujiro whined.

“Yes, that’s right, isn’t it, where Hakata’s men shot you.” But he still wrung out a scream and tears pulling Soujiro’s arms behind his back to cuff his hands there, which also pulled the sling against his neck at an awkward angle. With a firm, painful press on the broken shoulder blade, Saitou was apparently satisfied, and he aimed Soujiro back toward the city and began pushing him foward at a walk.

Soujiro sighed in relief as he found a less painful position to situate his arms. Recovering his smile, he turned and shouted into the woods. “It’s okay, Misao-san! He’s got me! You can stop following me now!”

A crash sounded in the brush.

“Oh, you noticed the weasel, did you?” Saitou said.

Soujiro nodded. “But it’s okay. The weather is so pretty today, even if I wasn’t able to visit the old base, it was really nice to walk out here...”

**********

“You can stop following me now!”

In surprise, Misao lost her balance on the branch and fell into the bushes below.

“Oh, you noticed the weasel, did you?”

 _Why that...!!_ she growled internally. Her face burned with embarassment that they’d seen her, but still, better not to reveal herself outright. She watched quietly from the bushes until Saitou and Soujiro were gone before she emerged and started back along the same route Soujiro had used.

As she had come, she’d noted the tree he paused at, and she stopped there now and looked at it. She carefully scrutinized the trunk where he had touched it, looked over the ground at its foot and up into the boughs, but could find nothing unusual. She took hold of the low-hanging branch he had reached up to and pulled it down into the light where she could find the still-green leaf whose slight prickly texture had been rubbed smooth where Soujiro touched it. She plucked the leaf and stared at it, turning it over and over in the sunlight, but she couldn’t see any kind of message in it, and continued back toward town with it still in her hand.

 _Seta Soujiro... What could he be up to?_ What kind of a plot could it be, that would include turning himself in to the police? He must be terribly sure of himself in that case. And how did it involve Aoshi-sama? _Is he still thinking of the alliance he had with Shishio?_

Her face was darkened, still trying to puzzle it out as she walked inward through the outskirts of Kyoto. Footsteps and a tall shadow came up beside her as she walked, and she looked up. “Ah, Aoshi-sama!”

“What’s wrong, Misao?” he asked her.

“Seta Soujiro was at Aoiya asking for you,” she said, her previous temper cooling into a tone of concern. “Jiya wouldn’t tell me what he said, he just apologized to me, so...”

“So Tenken no Soujiro is here in Kyoto again...”

“I followed him up to the mountain where Shishio’s base was, and he turned himself in to that psycho-cop Saitou. I wish I knew what he was planning...”

Aoshi stayed silent, just looking thoughtful.

“Nee, Aoshi-sama,” Misao said, thinking to offer him the leaf. “Does this mean anything to you?”

“Hm?” He took it and looked closely at it as they walked. “Even at this time of year it’s still fully green and hadn’t begun to dry. From being picked and handled, it’s wilting and becoming soft instead of breaking.”

He handed it back to her and she could see what he meant. Holding it by the stem, the leaf drooped under its own weight and lay limp against her palm. “So...”

“That’s all.”

They walked together back to Aoiya, where Okina was waiting. “Okaerinasai,” he said. “Misao, I told you to wait!”

“But Jiya—!”

“She said that Seta Soujiro left a message for me,” Aoshi said.

“Yes, he did. An apology.”

“Come on!” Misao protested. “Surely—”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I accepted it,” Okina said.

Aoshi nodded. “Good,” he said, and continued back into the inn.

Misao stood dumbstruck, watching him go as she began to work out what they’d said.

“You misunderstood, Misao,” Okina explained. “He came here to say that he was sorry, because he had involved Aoshi with Shishio and caused us trouble.”

“And you believed him!?” Misao bounced back incredulously.

Okina nodded. “And I don’t envy him. When he spoke to me, his mind wandered for a moment, and his eyes had such a haunted look...”

“‘Haunted look’...?”

“Do you remember Himura’s face, just before he looked at his new Sakabatou?”

Misao nodded. She didn’t think she could ever forget it.

“It was something like that,” he said. “There are old sword-masters in mad-houses whose eyes look like that all the time, and I’ve seen its shadow cross Aoshi’s face when he looks at me. I think sometimes he has to give in to it when he’s off by himself.” Okina started back inside, and Misao followed him quietly.

“I can accept an apology from anyone who has to go through their life with a feeling like that.”

**********

Soujiro spent the night chained hand and foot, sitting in a corner of his maximum-security cell. Inside it was dark and cold, yet stifling, as the only window was the one in the heavy iron door, just the size and height for someone’s eyes. His hands were bound behind his back again, so when his face inevitably itched, he had to rub it against the stone wall.

But altogether he didn’t consider the situation too unpleasant. In fact, when Saitou had brought him in and told his colleagues who it was, they had all seemed unnerved by his cheery, uncomplaining demeanor as they applied the shackles and locked him up. But whatever they might think, he could still smile because he was genuinely satisfied that this was the next step forward, what he should be doing. Because of that, too, he had little difficulty situating himself comfortably enough in the corner, and he slept soundly through the night. Even when he woke, there was nothing else to do, and almost no light to announce the morning, so he sat and dozed until someone called him from the tiny window.

“Hey, you!”

Soujiro roused himself and looked up, moving carefully with his left shoulder sore from the previous day’s rough handling. Even the narrow view through the door was enough to recognize Chou’s one closed eye and headband, and Soujiro could see the first inch of his upward blonde hair. “Ah, Chou-san, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Good morning,” he said with a yawn.

“Soujiro, it really is you, huh? Dammit!” he said. “Stupid brat! Do you know how much money you’re gonna cost me?”

“Ehh??”

“I had bets going with three people that they wouldn’t catch you!”

Soujiro laughed. “Well, you can tell them they didn’t catch me really. I meant to give myself up, so maybe you won’t lose money.”

“You did wha—!?” Chou’s other eye came open, and he slapped one black-gloved hand to his head. “Kid, that was fuckin’ stupid.”

He laughed again. “Maybe. But it worked out all right for you, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but—” Chou turned from the window as more footsteps approached in the hallway, and he spoke to someone else outside. “Geez, what are _you_ doing here?”

A wizened voice answered amid the clanking of the door being unlocked. “I was asked to take some time away from my very important work, because they thought Seta-san would rather deal with a familiar face.”

“Yeah, great, if it ain’t Old Home Week...” Chou’s voice faded down the corridor as the door groaned open.

Soujiro stood as he saw Saizuchi there, flanked by guards, and even his rather slight frame rose two feet above Saizuchi’s bulbous, bald head. “Saizuchi-san, how have you been?”

“Oh, always so busy but well,” he said. “And you’re looking like your usual chipper self. Come on and let’s see what to do with you.”

The guards took Soujiro by the arms and led him behind Saizuchi, out from the cellblock. They passed by where Saitou sat at a battered desk surrounded by plain wooden chairs, and he glanced up at them briefly with his sharp eyes before turning back to his paperwork and his cigarette. Chou stood against a wall nearby and frowned at Soujiro as they passed, but not an angry frown.

Soujiro had little time to wonder about that before being led into a conference room; here the furnishings were very different. Stern faces watched from the shadows of their formal oil portraits. The room was lit only by a small glow rimming thick-curtained windows and a lamp on the large and polished dark wood desk, and the only sound was the ticking of a tall clock against one wall—it read quarter of nine. He was led across a richly-patterned rug and placed in a deep upholstered armchair in front of the desk while Saizuchi sat down behind it. The chair there was obviously taller, and with anyone else, it would have left Soujiro being looked down on, but as it was, it brought him and Saizuchi to eye-level with each other.

The old man clucked his tongue, and his voice creaked as ever like a rusty hinge. “We can’t discuss things properly with your hands tied like that.” The guards took the hint and unlocked his wrist-shackles, giving him the opportunity to stretch his right arm, but he left his compromised left arm resting against the chair-padding.

“Let’s see now...” Saizuchi leafed through a conspicuously large sheaf of papers on the desk. “I must say, Soujiro, I knew you when we worked together, but seeing everything together in one place like this has been truly eye-opening. I never realized how much Shishio must have relied on you.”

“Not really,” Soujiro said, with a nervous laugh. “He would always just send me to do little things.”

“And assassinating Okubo was a little thing? Here I have the names of probably a dozen more key government officials whose deaths are attributed to your skill. Altogether, you’ve committed more capital offenses than I have time to tell you.”

“Ah, I guess so...”

Saizuchi put down the papers and pushed them aside. “But you’ve seen me and Chou here, and you’re still smiling, so there’s no point in threatening you with all of that, now, is there?” he said. “You know as well as I do that we’re here to cut a deal, so let’s get to business, shall we?”

Soujiro nodded; his hand tensed on his lap. His body felt full of energy for this, the step forward, in which direction? It was time to decide...

“It’s all really very sensible,” Saizuchi rattled on. “As they say, ‘if you can’t beat them, join them,’ or maybe Shishio’s way, the rule by the strongest, and we found out that’s the government, eh? So the natural thing is to join the winning side. And for their part, they say ‘waste not, want not.’ It wasn’t an easy thing, after killing Okubo especially, but they can let bygones be bygones with you, because who would want to waste the best assassin in Japan, after all?”

“Well, not anymore,” Soujiro told him. “I haven’t done that since I left Shishio-san...”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be surprised how quickly it all comes back to you.”

“No, I mean—” he started to protest. That energy had suddenly frozen inside him, and it gave him a strange, paralyzed feeling. “I mean, I don’t kill people anymore. I’m just not that kind of person, since then.”

Saizuchi stared at him for a long moment, thoughtfully twisting one of the four tendrils of his mustache. “That’s a problem,” he said simply.

Soujiro felt his heart falter, but caught himself and laughed it off. “Come on, don’t sound so serious!” he said. “I came here because I wanted to work something out instead of causing trouble. That’s just a little thing to work around. If I don’t want to hurt or kill anyone, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Well, what else are you good for?” Saizuchi asked him.

Soujiro’s face fell, and he was jolted with a feeling that at first brushed the edge of anger, but retreated into hot shame as he was tongue-tied for an answer. What he did best... He already knew that being good at hospitality service wouldn’t carry much leverage. Back in Tomi’s hometown came closer. “Well, I’ve worked as a guard...”

Saizuchi laughed once aloud before pointedly catching himself. “Soujiro, you’re an enemy of the state. You were Shishio’s right hand of death that had these politicians too spooked to move against him, and they still remember that fear. Do you think they’re going to trust you to guard them?”

He saw the point, but he couldn’t believe the way he was being steered. _Surely that’s not the only way... Surely..._ “I’d be happy to work with the police, like Saitou-san or Chou-san...”

“Asking them to bargain for a cop who refuses to kill anyone...” Saizuchi sighed with intentional weariness, and pulled the pile of papers back in front of him. “I don’t think you realize the position you’re in here. I told you, they’re still angry about Okubo and the others they lost, and not even just to you directly. You’re the closest thing to Shishio they have left to put the blame on. To some degree, he and Houji died and left the whole thing on your head.”

“Ehh!?” he struggled to make sense of it. “But all of that— I didn’t... That’s not fair!”

“I agree, but the dead can speak very loudly,” the old man said. “The government is willing to put that aside to have the Tenken for their own, but to them, forgoing your proverbial crucifixion is a high enough price to pay. They’re not going to deny themselves revenge in exchange for you taking it easy,” he pointed out with condescension.

But that tone wasn’t surprising. Soujiro wouldn’t have expected Saizuchi to understand what it meant to him, how right it felt to have tried Kenshin’s way, to give up killing forever and instead to live his life and share it, protecting Tomi, helping Ojisan and Obachan with any simple daily task, back in Yokohama, at his home—which now felt a million miles away. But to cling to whatever little bit of that gift he still could... “I’d even be happy to go to prison, if that’s what—”

“Oh, you won’t go to prison, I can promise you that,” Saizuchi said. The words had a wicked edge.

“But, Anji-oshou—”

“Was a completely different case.”

Unable to smile, Soujiro took several deep breaths, trying to build his courage to speak, but inside he still trembled, as if those breaths were just enough to keep him from collapse. At last the threw himself into it—such a terrifying question, but he had to know... “So you’re saying there’s no other choice at all? That I have to either be their assassin, or be executed?”

“Oh, I doubt that you would rate an execution _as such_.” Saizuchi said it as calmly and lightly as morning gossip—especially remembering past experience with him, Soujiro had the sickening impression that he was enjoying himself. “As I said earlier, with Shishio and Yumi dead in the mountains and Houji cutting his own throat last year, you’re the only one of the ‘inner circle’ still left among the living, and it’s not quite a dead issue, even with Shishio gone. If they can’t have Japan’s most skilled assassin, they can at least have some of Shishio’s secrets to put in their book, so for you, I’m guessing interrogation and truth serum, and when they decide they’ve exhausted those possibilities, then they’ll see what choice bits they can squeeze out of you while they torture you to death.”

Soujiro collapsed back into the chair, pressing his left hand into the cushion behind his back while his right hand dangled over one of the plush armrests. That surge of energy had entirely left him; if he’d taken a step forward, it had carried him over the edge of a pit and he was falling...

“So?” Saizuchi queried.

But he was too overcome to speak. Neither his body nor his mind would move. All he could fathom was the harsh chopping sound of the tall clock meting out the seconds he lay there, until he numbly turned his head to look at its face.

Ten minutes had passed since he’d entered this room. Ten minutes ago he had sat down in this chair with a hopeful smile—it seemed unbelievable. But then, such things happened, didn’t they? Okubo Toshimichi, when he realized the carriage’s door-handle was turning, he’d been saying something hopeful in a way, focused on saving Japan from Shishio, and less than two minutes later he was dead. Soujiro remembered it, the sensation of that man’s lips and whiskers grasped in his left hand—he clenched that fist and pressed harder on it with his back, blindly almost-trying to cause it pain.

To go back to that place, to do such things again... The thought of it flung his mind to another image entirely: Kotori-san falling from the tree, Kotori-san falling from the window, Kotori-san’s broken body laying in the street. It had been a devastating sensation, even through his handkerchief, picking her up with her bright black eyes and twittering song smashed into a lump of twisted meat and shattered bones... She had been the one to give him such a horrific and precious lesson—or was it a reminder?—of what it really meant to kill. Even just a little bird, what it meant... _Never, never, never again..._

What was it Anji-oshou had said? That there was a story about the Buddha becoming a rabbit and feeding himself to a hungry tiger. _‘You could have chosen to die’... Surely, even that would be better... But..._

He had told Junzo-ojisan that he would come back when he could. He had told Tomi that they would go back there, go back home together. _Everyone, I’m sorry... I have to break my promise..._ But there was nothing for it anyway. It was such a gift that it had been too much to ask, to be accepted having been a killer in a forsaken past. How could he go back to them if he accepted this devil’s bargain and dragged that back into the present? Better just to disappear, to hope that they would forget him and move on...

Maybe he had been stupid, to bring himself to this moment, but wasn’t it worth it, for that brief slice of heaven? Wasn’t it better, a few months of that, than a lifetime of survival of the fittest? Yes, it had caught up to him in the end, endangering everyone around him and almost costing a bullet in Tomi’s head, but now, he could face even this to protect them. Even this would be better...

“Are you all right?” Saizuchi asked.

“It’s okay,” Soujiro said, very softly, not moving a muscle except to speak.

“You were so quiet, I thought maybe you’d fainted.”

“I mean, what you said,” he breathed.

“Ah, so you’ll accept the job, then,” he surmised brightly.

“No,” Soujiro said. He didn’t even have the energy to shake his head, but he managed a tiny smile. “Even if I have to die, it’s okay. Shishio-san is gone, so I don’t have to worry about keeping his secrets... If my life is over anyway, it doesn’t really matter... how much it hurts...”

A long pause. Soujiro still lay staring at the clock as the second hand crested twelve and started down the side of the fourteenth minute—one minute until nine.

Saizuchi clucked his tongue. “You’re a stupid boy. I don’t know why you’re so stubborn about this. The people you’re putting your neck in the noose for are the scum of the earth, you know.”

“Kind of like you and me, eh, Saizuchi-san?”

He shut the cover that was struggling to hold his pile of papers together. “If this is the way you want to do it, it’s your decision. Take him back to his cell,” he told the guards. “It’ll probably be a day or two before they’re ready to get to work on you.”

**********

When he’d looked over it, Chou flipped the edges of the report with his thumb. “Guess I’ll check this out, then,” he said, but as he was turning to leave, he stopped and looked around at the sound of the conference room door, and he watched the guards lead Soujiro back to his cell. In fifteen minutes, he’d gone from bright-eyed cheer to downcast silence, and didn’t look up as they led him away.

Chou rolled his papers up in his hand and went into the conference room, where Saizuchi was arranging papers on the desk out of an overextended file-cover and poring over them.

“That’s gotta be some kinda record.”

Saizuchi looked up. “Oh, I’m not finished with him yet. I thought this would just be open-and-shut and I’d have the day off, but now it seems I’ll have to put my considerable mind to it...”

“What the hell did you tell him?”

“Death by slow torture,” the old man said with an unconcealed grin. “I was sure he’d decide to take the job instead of that, but no. I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind.”

Chou sighed and frowned. “Looks like Himura Battousai gave him the whole head-job.”

“Such an expressive face, I could hardly believe it!” Saizuchi crowed. “There’s something more to this, something he’s desperate to protect. Once I find that key, we can have anything at all we want, and that should be simple enough. I just need to do the reading, and he has food for thought in the meantime... This will be a lot more fun than open-and-shut.” His smirk twisted into a frown at the papers. “It’s not enough light for these old eyes... Draw the curtains, will you?” he said without looking up. “Oh, and tell the guards—”

“Do it yourself, shithead!” Chou snapped. “I ain’t your fuckin’ errand boy!!” He stormed out of the room, loudly slamming the door behind him.

**********

“Yo!” Sanosuke greeted as he entered the gate of the dojo, carrying Tomi on his shoulder.

“We’re back!” she said, waving a few sheets of paper.

“Okaerinasai,” Kaoru answered. “Ah, Tomi-chan, are these your lessons?”

Tomi nodded as Sano let her down. “Did Soujiro-oniichan come while I was gone?”

“No, not yet.”

She frowned. “I hoped maybe he’d be here, so I could show him what I wrote at school...”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Kaoru assured her. “It’s just that Kyoto is a long way away. It’ll take awhile for him to get there and back.”

“I know, but...” She peeked at her papers, holding them close to her chest.

“Can I see?” Kaoru asked her, and looked over her shoulder at the unbalanced-but-clear characters. “That looks good,” she said. “Let’s save these so Soujiro can see them all when he gets here.”

“Okay!”

As they talked, Sano walked over to where Kenshin was cooking lunch and sat down on the porch nearby.

“It looks like you had a good morning,” Kenshin said.

“Yeah,” Sano answered. “She was kind of a handful at first, but the teacher just loved her, like all the kids. Only thing was he had to give the government some kind of a paper with her dad’s signature.”

“Oh? That is troublesome...”

“Nahh, got it covered,” Sano said. “I know the guy’s name, and who’s gonna make a big deal out of it, anyway?”

“Does Sasaki-dono(2) know about that?”

“Yeah. I told him the whole story and he watched me do it. Since he’s kinda like you and Soujiro, he understood it a lot; I think Tomi’d even be safe at school with him there, if we weren’t around.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Those cops have cleared out, I wonder if we have to worry about guarding her quite so much,” Sano mused. “I know Genzai’d take care of her, and she’d like hanging around with Ayame and Suzume more.”

“Soujiro is depending on us to keep her safe,” Kenshin said. “I don’t want to take chances. I only wish I could feel more confident about it...”

“You wish you could trust your government not to be jackasses about this,” Sano surmised.

Kenshin sighed.

**********

Chou returned to the police station in the late afternoon, when the windows threw their grids of yellow light as far as the opposite wall. Saitou had already returned from his rounds and was putting things away for the night, and Saizuchi was there, too, in the corner, hovering over a telegraph machine and relaying messages through the officer operating it.

“Time to call it a day and go home to the Mrs., eh?” Chou asked Saitou, getting the customary stony silence in reply.

“Where is Hakata now? I’d like to talk to him about some of these reports,” Saizuchi remarked.

“He’s in the country somewhere, visiting family,” Saitou said. “When his resignation was refused, he took all the leave he could.”

“Well, no matter, plenty to work with here.”

Chou heard a wail in the distance, as if someone had brought in a baby or a yowling cat, and he looked around, but no one else paused.

The telegraph officer cleared his throat to catch Saizuchi’s attention. “To answer your previous question, they’re reminding you that they want him alive if—”

“I know that!” Saizuchi scolded. “But some of the more physical forms of persuasion come with some small risk you know.”

“All right...”

As the officer started another message, the room fell silent except for the tapping of the telegraph machine and that wailing sound. He realized it was coming from the cellblock.

“He’s been like that for the last few hours,” Saitou said, noticing Chou’s reaction. “If you think you can shut him up, go right ahead.”

Saizuchi turned to protest, but seemed to think better of it as Saitou handed Chou the key to Soujiro’s cell.

The telegraph officer stretched the strip of paper the machine had fed out and read the broken line. “The risk is acceptable.”

**********

When the guards had brought Soujiro back to his cell, his hands chained behind his back again, he hadn’t made a sound. When they had shut and locked the door behind him, he had been so drained and numb that he had stood there for several minutes, just where they had left him, before slowly walking over to a wall, leaning his good shoulder on it, and sliding down it to a seat on the floor.

He had sat still there for a very long time. Occasionally he would say it in his mind, _It’s over now. I’m going to die_ , but it hadn’t meant anything. It had been hours and hours before he fully realized what was happening, and when he had, he had rested his forehead against the wall and wept, screaming out his tears like a child.

At intervals, he would lull into silence and become lost in an endless tangle of tormented thoughts. _Tomi-chan, Obachan, everyone, I’ll never see them again... Never even get out of here, never even see the sun, never even see trees again..._ The green leaves opening in the spring... One time he had truly gotten to see it. _Why just one time? Why so little? Why do things like this keep happening to me!? It’s like before, before Shishio-san... Why was it so wrong? I don’t want to kill anyone anymore—that was all I wanted! **Why was that so wrong!?**_ Each time, that tangle would grow to overwhelm him, and he could only drown out those thoughts with his own anguished cries.

As the hours passed, no one entered the cell, not even to bring food or water. In the dark, he had no awareness of time, but at length he was hoarse from crying and thirst. By that time, he expected no one but the promised interrogators, so he gasped and looked up with wide-eyed fear when he heard the key in the lock. The light from the doorway clearly revealed Chou’s hair and flame-patterned kimono. “Chou-san!”

“Dammit, stop screaming like that!” Chou snapped as the guards closed the door behind him. “If you’re that upset, then do something about it or shut the hell up and take it like a man!”

Soujiro blinked at him in shock and bewilderment.

“Shit, how old are you supposed to be, anyway? You’re lookin’ at me like a little girl.”

“Chou-san!” he burst out, although his voice was dry and serrated. “Tell me, isn’t there anything else I can do? Anything at all would be—”

“Hell, I don’t know.”

“But... Isn’t there anyone else I could talk to?” he pleaded. “You know how Saizuchi-san is. I don’t know if what he’s telling me is true...”

“It doesn’t matter. He can make it true,” Chou said.

“Eh?”

“Maybe the government big-shots won’t cut you any more slack that he says, or maybe they will. Either way, he’s done told them he’ll get them anything they want outta you, and they’re not gonna say no to that. —And if you think he won’t, then you’re shit outta luck! If you were the old Soujiro who didn’t give a damn about anything, I might say you had a chance, but...” He frowned deeply. “Kid, he is gonna break you.”

“I guess it looks that way...”

A long silence descended. The first thing Soujiro could think of was just a haunting curiosity, but he gave in to it as Chou began to turn away. “Nee, Chou-san...”

“Hm?”

“This cell... Was this Houji-san’s cell?”

“Nah. They put him in one with bars; he wasn’t deadly like you,” Chou answered. “There a reason you’re askin’ me that?”

“Well, not—”

“‘Cause if there is, I’m reporting in sick tomorrow, dammit, I don’t wanna see that.”

Soujiro jolted to attention and stared at him. _He doesn’t want me to die_ , he realized. He remembered Chou as a heartless man who cared only for his sword collection and the thrill of fighting and killing—but really, that was no worse than the way Chou must remember him. “Chou-san, I never...”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you would understand...”

“I don’t!” he snapped. “Damned if I know where you picked up this fuckin’ martyr complex! At first I thought you got it from Battousai, but now you’re just all-out stupid! I’ll tell you this right now, if that shrimp was here, he sure as hell wouldn’t be tellin’ you to kill yourself!”

“I know...” Soujiro said softly. The night he had left Tokyo...

 _As the cool autumn wind ruffled the leaves, Kenshin fixed him with an intense gaze. “Listen, Soujiro, don’t forget that you are also part of what you’re protecting. Your family in Yokohama, Tomi-dono, and all of us here... If at the end of this, we lose you, then we haven’t won, so don’t be too willing to sacrifice yourself. Remember that when you get to Kyoto.”_

“I know that, but...” Soujiro turned his face toward the wall. His voice began to break again. “I just don’t know what to do...”

Chou looked down at him for a long moment, then sighed hotly. He crouched next to Soujiro and spoke inches from his ear, in the slightest whisper. “I don’t know why I’m stickin’ my neck out, ‘cause _someone_ is bound to hear this, but look, if you say no to their job, they’re gonna kill you, and if you say yes, they’re gonna screw you the same way they did Shishio; they’ll use you as long as they feel like it, and then they’ll take you out with the garbage.”

“But then—”

“I’ll tell you what to do. I know if you put your mind to it, you can get out of here. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it, and run like hell, and don’t ever let them get hold of you again.” With that, Chou stood, walked back to the cell door, and rapped for the guards to let him out.

The door had closed behind him, and his footsteps had faded into almost-silence before Soujiro answered under his breath, “I can’t do that.”

He couldn’t run anymore; he’d known that when he came, and in fact it was the very reason he had come here. As long as he ran away, anyone he involved himself with was in danger. Everyone he had left behind in Yokohama and Tokyo would be threatened, and to keep it from happening again, he would have to keep going on, always alone... But then, wasn’t it still better than the alternatives?

In asking if this had been Houji’s cell, it really had just been a haunting curiosity, and he hadn’t been considering Houji’s route of escape—but logically, wouldn’t even that be better than what lay ahead of him? He could never have consented to become the killer he had been; he knew that more surely than anything. Wouldn’t it be simpler and better to die quickly now, instead of slowly and horribly as Saizuchi had promised? Even now in a bare room, with shackles on his wrists and ankles, there were still ways to do it...

But even as he thought it, he knew that those pragmatic considerations were meaningless. Death would finally snuff out the last irrational shred of hope, some small corner of himself that still believed somehow he would walk back to Tokyo and pick Tomi up and carry her, and walk back with her to Yokohama, up the front path of Sumidaya through the peach trees... He could never destroy that last, stupid glimmer of optimism with his own hands, but if he didn’t, it seemed he would only be waiting for it to be done more cruelly, for that innocent hope to be teased and torn and tortured, then finally crushed without mercy.

Chou was right; escape would be the best thing to do. Even on the run, even alone, he could live for the sun and the wind in the leaves; he had done it before, and had seen a great deal of joy in it. He could never let go of his Tanabata wish, the hope of going home someday, but a fugitive life held more possibility than none at all. _If I live long enough, things could change. If I was still alive, something good could maybe happen someday..._

But his hands were still chained behind his back, and the only outlet from the cell was still a barred window in the door, at the level of his forehead and hardly larger than his hand. Moreover, his body ached and weighed him down; he was tired from crying, hungry and thirsty, and his broken shoulder still rendered his left arm almost useless. He had gotten in and out of so many unlikely places before, probably he could do this, but it would take his full skill and concentration, which he now found evading his grasp.

The guards at the door didn’t have the key, so even if he could reach through the window, he couldn’t get it. _—Couldn’t go back for Tomi-chan, couldn’t go home...—_ He couldn’t open the door himself; how could he get to the other side of it? _—Himura-san told them he helped me, and even if they believe I made them do it, they know Ojisan and Obachan kept me. If the police are looking for me, they’ll ask them...—_ Couldn’t open the door by himself, so how...?

He frowned at himself for the distraction and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus. There was only one way he could see his life going on from here, out on the road—why couldn’t he make up his mind to take hold of it? _I don’t want to run anymore, but if I don’t... I don’t want to die, either._ Kenshin had told him ‘don’t be too willing to sacrifice yourself.’ _Himura-san, and my family... They wouldn’t want me to die. They would want me to..._ To risk them? He didn’t feel he had any right to think that. _They wouldn’t want me to throw away my life for them... But... But I..._ He imagined being on the road, hearing or finding in a newspaper somewhere that Sumidaya had been raided, or that Tomi had been ‘rescued’ and returned ‘home’... For his own part, could he really risk that?

 _But if I don’t... If I just stay here..._

But no matter how long he thought about it, he couldn’t summon the will to take that step. He kept trying to commit to it, or at least to decide one way or the other, but the conviction simply wasn’t there, and he was only exhausting himself trying to find it. He kept up the search until, barely even aware of it, his thoughts broke up and dissolved into a fitful sleep.

His exhaustion gradually dragged him down further and further, and when the door opened again, he was very deeply asleep. He heard the sound and woke, but he was still trying to wrench himself up from the darkness when rough hands lifted him to his feet. He walked along blindly as they led him out of the cell, and on the way he gradually managed to open his eyes.

The station was dim and mostly empty except for his heavy escort, and the furniture was just touched with a rosy glow amid long, sharp shadows. Through the window by Saitou’s desk, he could see that dawn was just breaking outside, scribing a line across rooftops and through silhouetted trees in a deep, sweet pink. The sight began to lift the haze from his mind, and he paused to look at it, but at an extra push from his captors, he yielded and kept walking.

They brought him back to the same conference room and deposited him again in the same plush armchair, which he collapsed into under slight pressure. He was waking up to find his throat seared dry; his whole body ached and didn’t want to move, but he turned toward the window. The curtains were drawn again, and the glow that peeked around their edges was mostly drowned out by the lamp on the desk, which gave the whole room a cast of flame-gold instead of dawn-rose.

“Good morning,” Saizuchi said from the other side of the lamp.

For a moment, Soujiro could only utter a dry wheeze, but with effort, he croaked out a “Good morning.” He couldn’t help but notice a pitcher on the desk.

“Have you given any more thought to the offer?”

He paused a moment to understand the question, then shook his head.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

He nodded. He was totally sure of that.

Saizuchi gave a sigh and made a show of putting on a mournful face, but it didn’t look genuine. “I had held out one last ray of hope that you wouldn’t say that. It was the one thing that would have saved you.”

“Why?” Soujiro managed. “That was the only thing... I really wanted to be good... Anything else at all would be okay...”

“Listen, my boy, I’d like to help you,” Saizuchi said, in a saccharine voice, “but I don’t have anything to work with here. I spent all day yesterday pleading your case, but that skill truly is the only thing you have that they want, and you keep insisting, even at the point of life and death, there’s nothing they can give you that will get that for them. You’ve made it a into a futile situation.”

To Soujiro, too, it seemed to be a futile situation, here in this place. He looked at the window again, although with his guards more numerous and standing close around the chair, they partially obscured his view. But still, there was no iron door here, just a layer of cloth and a pane of glass. This would be a good opportunity, if he could just fix his mind on it and make himself move. His attention was mostly on the window as he heard Saizuchi rambling on.

“I did everything I could for you, truly I did. Although it was difficult and, sadly, the best thing I could manage, I was able to convince them that you were really just Shishio’s exceptionally lethal errand-boy, and that you didn’t actually know enough to make it worth interrogating you. Small consolation, perhaps, but at least we can get this over with right away.”

At that, he whipped around. “Eh!? What?”

Saizuchi looked at him over steepled fingers. “I would have made it easier on you, but no one wanted your blood staining the carpet in here.”

Soujiro’s eyes widened. _Right now!?_

“Goodbye, Soujiro.”

At the same moment Saizuchi spoke, the man on Soujiro’s right side seized his arm and pulled him forward in the chair. Someone reached over his head from behind, and their white-gloved hands descended in front of his face, with the black line of a taut cord between them.

Like a falling blade, that line sliced away every bit of weariness and hesitation, and Soujiro threw himself out of its path, sideways and down. As he pivoted over the armrest of the chair, he braced his feet against the man who had grabbed his arm and uncoiled his legs—the legs strong enough for Shuku-chi—hurling him against the opposite wall. Soujiro’s shackles kept him from controlling his landing, and he hit the floor on his side like a fish. Immediately, he moved to right himself, but someone seized his left arm, and he screamed in pain as they savagely and intentionally wrenched his broken shoulder. Another man took the opening and grabbed his head by his hair and under his chin— _no good!_ He managed to pull out of their hold, but by then he was already pinned to the floor with someone’s knee in his back, and someone already had the garrote around his neck.

As his cry of effort was choked off into silence, he knew he couldn’t afford to panic, and he seized his own mind and held it too strongly for it to squirm out of his grasp. He could feel the hands tying the knot against his nape, and trained absolute attention on it—the knot had a loop in it, which just touched his right ear. Pull one end and it would come loose. Pushing past the pain in his ravaged shoulder, he wrapped the chain connecting his wrist-cuffs around his left hand to take up the slack and hold it. He pulled and twisted, concentrating the force on one link—he knew he could break it, and with his hands freed, he knew he could free his neck and breathe again, escape through that window and then—

And then nothing. He didn’t know.

That moment of indecision brought the panic and pain bursting up in his mind like the uncoiling of a broken spring. His grip on his chains faltered, and the links spilled over his fingers. He knew that he was lost, and he tried to scream, but couldn’t force the slightest breath or voice through his strangled throat. All he could see, feel, or think of was the pain in his neck, his head throbbing, his thin chest heaving desperately but unable to escape, like pulling against the end of a tether.

He had no idea how long it went on. Every moment felt like it must be the breaking point but was not, and only melted into a timeless expanse of agony and fear, but at last, gradually, it faded into a soft, prickly numbness. Even just a little bit, uncontrolled as dreaming, he began to have his mind back. His eyes were wide open, but a rim of darkness was closing in on his vision, which pulsated in and out of light and focus. A chill crawled over his body, like the cold breath of approaching death.

Or, better than that, like a cool wind on his skin, raising goosebumps in its contrast to the hot summer sun. Now he could also feel the sweet, cold grass against his chest, and he raised his head as much as he could. Emerald grass and leaves, dazzling white sun, the blue sky clear and intense... He was home, in the back yard. The pulsating light was the shadows of the swaying peach boughs and the sheets on the lines flapping in the breeze. Junzo-ojisan was there, taking down dry sheets and trying to keep Tomi from playing with them, while Reiko-obachan watched from the back door, dressed in her uniform and apron. They couldn’t see him.

Tears swelled in Soujiro’s eyes, but didn’t blur the vision before him. He longed to take a breath, inhale the sunny scent of the peaches and laundry and call out to them, but his efforts to do so were in vain. His chains having vanished along with the dark room in Kyoto, he reached out toward them. Although they were meters beyond his reach, he fought with all his fading strength to stretch out his right arm, stretch out his fingers...

He knew he was dying. He knew this was goodbye, and his lips silently formed the word, but at least... At least one last time he could see them, feel the breeze and sun... A slight smile touched his lips as his hand fell in the grass, and his fingers wilted into a helpless half-curl.

As he lay there, he heard sounds from the conference room, voices so far away they were like the chatter of distant birds, but suddenly, from that place, a hand descended on his head, and although there was little force behind it, it was a stunning blow. He felt it keenly; someone was pulling on the cord around his neck, but he wasn’t absorbing the force.

The loop popped out of the knot. At first a harrowing trickle, but with another pull from that hand, he dragged breath deep into his chest. Air and light flooded his head, beautiful and overwhelming. He remained in a senseless rapture of gasping for breath as they lifted him back into the armchair and unchained his hands.

Gradually, he collected his wits to find himself sitting in the chair, collapsed forward with his head and arms spilled awkwardly onto the desk. His body was even more severely compromised than before; the pain in his left shoulder was worse even than when the bullet had gone into it, and twinged with the motion of every hungry breath. Even that was less intense than the pain in his throat, and the occasional compulsion of a dry cough stung almost enough to drive him out of his mind. His entire body had been utterly drained of strength by the brush with death, so much so that when he felt someone—he thought it was Saizuchi—push a cup of water over to him until it nudged the back of his hand, it took him some time to grasp it and lift his head to drink.

The cool water was an immense relief, but he knew that he was still deeply in danger. _Why didn’t they kill me?_ The loop in the knot—it had been made to be untied from the start. It had never been meant as an execution, only as torture. Angry heat flooded his face, and he was seized with a desire to throw the pottery cup at Saizuchi’s head, but he didn’t have the energy for it. After a few more sips, he was able to lean back in the chair and brace the cup on his knee, and could manage a hoarse growl. “You did that on purpose.”

“Not at all!” Saizuchi insisted, doing a very poor job of disguising his glee. “I just acted prematurely, and I am _terribly_ sorry. The trouble is that I just now recieved a message from someone in the police department. While they decided against questioning you about Shishio’s organization, I neglected to note that there are some current investigations you might be able to shed some light on, so if we can just get these few questions out of the way, then we won’t have to drag this on for you...”

Soujiro struggled to listen to the droning voice. He was still trying to catch his breath and nursing the cup of water.

“Point number one,” Saizuchi said, looking at his papers, “where is Inoue Tomi now?”

The cup bounced off Soujiro’s lap and splashed on his knee before hitting the floor, and he stared wide-eyed. He had left himself entirely open for the blow and was now struck speechless; his efforts to reply only had him gaping.

“Do you know?”

He shook his head dumbly.

“Well, so be it,” Saizuchi said. “We have a good idea where to start looking, but they just wanted to know if you might say something different. Battousai is such a nuisance, you know, they were all hoping they wouldn’t have to deal with him.”

Soujiro struggled to shake his voice loose and made a broken sound.

“Point number two,” Saizuchi pressed ahead. “I’m seeing some reports about a couple you held hostage for a period of some months it seems. Is that true?”

“Um...” He suddenly realized what he meant—back at the inn, he’d told Ojisan and Obachan to claim he’d forced them to stay there, so they wouldn’t be arrested for harboring him. “YES! YES!” he burst out, throwing himself into a painful coughing fit which Saizuchi ignored.

“Really? Given what they heard from the witnesses there, so many conflicting reports, it’s very odd.” He put down the papers and looked up. “Well, that’s for the judge to decide in the end, eh?”

“No!” Soujiro cried.

“Oh?” Saizuchi cocked his head quizzically, but he was wearing a confident smirk.

 _He knows he’s got me_ , Soujiro realized, and he knew it, too. That was the real reason they had made him think he was dying, to break down his resistance for this main point, and it had worked. He was so hurt that he could barely move or speak, and had no strength to hold himself back from sobbing. “Why don’t you just leave them alone!?”

“We have to uphold the law, pure and simple,” Saizuchi said. “If we just shrugged off all the kidnappings and harborings of fugitives, our society would fall apart. It could be possible to make arrangements in these particular cases, though. If you wanted such a thing, my dear boy, you should have told me. It’s not such a big problem. I’m certain I could get that for you, if you just offer something in return.”

He was putting on too civil a show to deliver the ultimatum directly, but his meaning was clear. They were threatening Soujiro’s family in order to manipulate him, and what could he do? It was the government. They were the strongest; they could do what they liked and had no one to answer to.

 _“He told them he’ll get them anything they want out of you. If you were the old Soujiro who didn’t give a damn about anything, I might say you had a chance, but, Kid, he is going to break you.” Chou-san, you were right... I didn’t know you meant it like this..._ Somewhere along the way he’d begun assuming that turning himself in was enough to protect everyone. _Why was I so stupid!?_ And now it was too late to run. They had his weakness, the chain that would pull him back to them if he tried to escape, that they could use to drag him anywhere they wanted to lead him. After all, his family had only him to protect them, and if he didn’t, he would never forgive himself. Whatever it cost...

He had fallen to crying with his face on the desk, and pounded it one time with his fist. “Please!” he screamed. “Anything you want to do to me!”

Saizuchi looked down at him with a wicked grin. He at last had dropped his facade and was openly enjoying watching Soujiro crumble. “You can’t give us something we already have,” he said. “Tell me, to have Inoue Tomi as your own child, to buy amnesty for Sumidaya and Kamiya Dojo, what would you do?”

Soujiro knew that it was not an open-ended question, but only yes or no—no, not even that. Not even one option, not any possibility at all. It was unthinkable: the tears in the rain, the broken bird, but if not that... The vision he had seen on the edge of death hovered in his mind, so simple and precious. To keep that from being destroyed, even if he could never speak to it or touch it, even if it cost him everything...

 _“Don’t be too willing to sacrifice yourself.” They wouldn’t want me to throw away my life_ —no, not even just his life, but everything, to the point of his very heart that was worth more than survival. _They wouldn’t want me to do that, but I... To protect them..._

“So...” Saizuchi prodded at his silence, “for those people you would do... nothing, I take it.”

“No! No...” Soujiro sobbed. “Anything... I’d do anything...”

“For this, you would become the Meiji government’s assassin?”

Why did he have to say it? Saizuchi knew he had won already; why did he have to twist the knife? It was almost more than he could bear, but after choking out several sobs, Soujiro at last cried “Yes!”

“...yes...”

**********

“Ya got anything for me today?” Chou asked, coming in and leaning on Saitou’s desk. He looked over and found Saizuchi in the corner at the telegraph machine again. “How are you and Seta-san getting along?”

“Seta-san joined the ranks an hour ago,” Saizuchi crowed.

“Reluctantly,” Saitou pointed out, taking one last drag before grinding out his cigarette. “He’ll do shoddy work.”

“That’s no problem as long as we don’t give him any critical information,” Saizuchi argued. “Shoddy work gets him killed, the politicians get their revenge, and in the meantime, a shoddy Tenken is better than most swordsmen on a good day.”

Saitou picked up his hat and left to make his rounds without another word.

“Where is he now?” Chou asked.

“In the conference room, waiting for the doctor. He landed one good kick, so we’re waiting for someone’s cracked ribs to be taped up,” Saizuchi said with a chuckle, then turned back to the telegraph officer. “Yes, that reminds me, Seta-san is still hurt, so make sure it’s an easy job, but as soon as possible. Tonight would be ideal.”

“Yeah, and tell them this guy’s a fucking rat-bastard,” Chou added in a snarl as he walked past.

“Young people...” Saizuchi griped behind him.

In the conference room, Soujiro was curled up sideways with his feet in the chair in front of the desk, hugging his knees and sobbing quietly.

“Shit,” Chou cursed, and crossed to the chair. “What did I tell you about—”

Soujiro screamed out loud as Chou unthinkingly clapped him on his forward shoulder—his left shoulder. Chou started back from him and swore again under his breath. He knew he’d touched the broken bone, but worse than that, when Soujiro had cried out, he had tipped his head up into the corner of the winged chair-back, revealing a dark red bruise encircling his throat.

Chou stared at him awkwardly for a long moment. He finally looked around and picked up the papers Saizuchi had left laying on the desk. They were stray pages out of police reports—Hakata’s overly-meticulous work, mostly—and he carried them over to the window and pulled the curtains aside for light to skim over them. Saizuchi had even added some circles and underlines to go by.

 _“Girl kidnapped by Seta, witnesses in town identify as Inoue Tomi ... abusive father ... Seta often seen with child, witnesses describe them as friends...”_ Flip a few pages. _“Sumidaya ... owners insist they were coerced; Fujikake corroborates, not in his previous reports ... witnesses describe Seta and owners as amiable ... Sumida may be lying to avoid prosecution. Fujikake may be lying (why??)...”_

Chou turned from the papers to look back at Soujiro. “You should have listened to me, Kid. You ain’t cut out for this job anymore.”

“I know... You were right...” Soujiro answered, in a strained, breathy voice. “But now it’s too late for me...”

**********

With the lunch dishes finished, Reiko could take a little time to rest or chat with the guests. As she emerged from the kitchen, she heard Junzo and the doctor next door talking near the entrance.

“I wondered if you could put her up here for a few days,” the doctor was saying. “I know you’re busy, but...”

“Sorry, you’ll have to get your walking exercise this time,” Junzo answered. “We’re all filled up.”

“I thought maybe Soujiro and Tomi’s—”

“We’re filled up.”

“Ah. Just thought I’d ask. Sorry.”

Reminded of ‘the kids,’ Reiko wandered back to that empty room and let herself in. She’d been in here every day these past few weeks, keeping the room clean and inviting for whenever Soujiro and Tomi might be able to return, but it was still a regretful feeling, to stand here in the stillness and silence. Soujiro had warned her that he had a dangerous past and that the police would come, but she had still allowed herself to become attached, and hadn’t prepared herself for them to be gone. After all, it had been so refreshing—if occasionally exhausting—to again be near the viewpoint of youth. She smiled at recalling Tomi’s untamed energy, her charmingly simple, unlearned and wild ideas.

But at times, Soujiro had even seemed like more of a child. Reiko didn’t understand how a nearly-grown man could posess such innocent naivete, or that sense of wonderment. How could Soujiro, with his innocent blue eyes, have been an infamously skillful killer? In her mind, she believed him when he said it, and knew that it was true, but on him of all the people in the world, the notion didn’t fit, and it baffled her.

She could even look at the paradox given form on a shelf here in his room, where Soujiro kept the only two posessions he had arrived on their doorstep with: an openworked tsuba decorated with leafy branches, and a silly-looking toy horse made of threadbare cloth(3)—a piece of a deadly weapon, and a love-worn children’s toy.

Reiko knew it was an unwise sort of thing to wish for, but she vaguely hoped that someday she would understand it.

**********

Through the afternoon, dense gray rainclouds gathered over Kyoto, and by dark, fat raindrops pelted down, punctuated by the boom and rumble of thunder. The path through the forest was barely visible except in the occasional soft flash of lightning.

But Soujiro had gotten a feel for this place beforehand, enough to perform his task in the rain and darkness. He stood waiting with his back against the damp trunk of one of the trees and faced down the path, a sword gripped in his right hand. The messenger who was his target would be coming on horseback from behind him; the tree would hide him from their view until the last moment.

But not even the tree was shielding him from the rain. He had been here so long that his clothes and the new sling holding his left arm were sopping, cold enough to make him shiver. His hair was soaked, and his bangs stuck to his forehead in gummy points that directed streams of rainwater down his face.

 _Why did it have to rain tonight? Or maybe... Maybe it should rain at a time like this... again..._ Soujiro clenched his fist tighter around the sword-handle, squeezing off the thought. He couldn’t afford to think about this anymore. Couldn’t afford to think...

A heavy raindrop knocked a brown, dead leaf out of the tree and brought it down on his head. It clung in his drenched hair, but he made no move to brush it away.

A rumble of thunder faded to reveal the sound of hoofbeats. Soujiro tensed and listened to them come closer. As the sound swept past him, he launched himself across the path with an arc of his sword, meeting the old sensation of resistance as the edge sliced through flesh and bone.

The horse’s hind legs were suddenly ripped away, and it screamed and thrashed as it dashed against the wet ground, hurling its rider and sending up a splatter of mud. Nothing for it now, no reason to make it suffer—Soujiro took one more stroke through the animal’s writhing neck before darting to cover.

At the _**THACK**_ of the blade, the rider whipped up, too late to see Soujiro, but in time to see his mount’s head flung away into the trees. He scrambled back, falling over his skewed straw raincoat as he cried out in horror. Soujiro was already waiting behind him, with one sword-thrust through his head from the back. The doomed messenger didn’t see it coming; he probably didn’t even hear himself stop screaming.

The act was done, and nothing could erase it now. Soujiro stood there, frozen. _I’m this kind of person again, who does things like this..._ Tomi’s best friend, the person Reiko-obachan had made a uniform for, the person who sat on the porch of Kamiya Dojo, looking at the night sky and talking with Kenshin as though they were friends... _That’s not what I am anymore... I’m a killer... Not just as something I’ve done, but what I am, right now..._

His eyes ached as the tears came, joined by raindrops running down his face, bloody sword in hand. He bit his lip. _Don’t smile... Not again... Whatever you do, don’t smile..._

A silent flash of lightning washed white light over the scene before him. The man’s body lay lifeless, pitched at a strange angle into the mud. The headless horse was obviously dead, but its corpse twitched; one hoof blindly pawed the stormy sky.

The revulsion of that image and the reality of what he had done ripped through Soujiro’s mind. He let the sword fall and grasped his hair, staggered back against a tree, screaming. His voice was drowned and swept away in the deafening crack of thunder.

 _Owari_

Footnotes:

1\. His shoulder is still broken from Changing Leaves.

2\. The teacher Sano mentioned is Sasaki Heihachirou, from the Jin-pu-tai story (eps 15-16); remember him?

3\. See Okaerinasai for the horse, and Owaranakatta for the tsuba.


	8. Makasetekudasai

Makasetekudasai  
"Please leave it to me"

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

 _So what am I going to do, just lay here until I die?_ Soujiro asked himself, but still he lay on the futon, on his side with his right hand curled limply in front of his face. The small heating stove had burned itself out long ago, and the overquilt was askew; one of the upper corners enveloped his hips and knees, but his stocking feet were otherwise bare in the chilly air, as was his upraised left shoulder except for its bandages—that side of his nemaki had fallen off of it. He’d been laying here for days, ever since...

 _The doomed messenger scrambled backward, screaming at the sight of his horse’s head ripped off its neck and flung away into the trees by Soujiro’s sword. Surely the man was desperate to escape that horror, but the blade was already waiting behind him to silence him with one thrust, the ghastly familiar sensation of steel on bone, the thin wall of his skull yielding to the swordpoint..._

Soujiro squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist—his sword-hand—in front of them. _I never wanted it to be like this again..._ In the past few days, he had been over and over reasons why. That messenger probably had people to miss him, to be heartbroken at his loss; after all, that was true even of little birds. Anji-oshou had said that the way each person behaved created the world, piece by piece, and Soujiro hardly wanted to cast his vote for a world full of killers. Reiko-obachan had asked him, about the old days with Shishio, “Is that all over now? Do you really want to start again?” and it had been such an undeserved blessing to hear “I still want you to stay here,” even when he could say “yes.” _I still want to... I still wish I could..._ Maybe that was all the reason he needed to be so devastated by another stormy night. _I didn’t want to do this..._

But what could he do? It was the government’s order, and what they had for repayment was the fates of everyone Soujiro had to protect, his family whom he loved more than himself. Even this was better than bringing punishment down on them. After all, he was the cause of all the trouble, so surely he should be the one to bear its weight.

It was just such a heavy burden... He remembered as a child, carrying the enormous bags of rice his family dealt in until he was exhausted and fell, pinned down by one of them, trying to stand up under its weight. Even that hardly seemed as difficult as now, bracing his right arm under his body and pushing himself up.

He picked up an empty cracker-box beside the futon and rose, setting it aside on a table where it knocked painfully against his sheathed sword. The day he had accepted this job, he had thought to buy crackers and new clothes. After that night, he had felt very sick, and even yet it hadn’t completely faded. It had been late the next day before he could even stomach the crackers, but now all he could pick out of the box was a few stray crumbs, and putting them in his mouth only made him notice more that he felt weak with hunger. Even if he didn’t feel like it, he knew that unless he chose to simply waste away, he had to eat something, and that meant going out.

His new clothes lay out, and had had plenty of time to dry: a new shirt, dark brown hakama, and a slate blue kimono with woven tonal stripes—and a scarf to hide the bruise from their persuasion techniques. At least it was getting cold outside; as a child, he’d worn a scarf once in mid-summer. And at least he hadn’t had to wear his already-abused white uniform that night. It was stowed away in a closet, out of sight.

His hands moved very slowly in getting dressed, even further hindered by allowances for his broken shoulder. He felt every button on the shirt as he fumbled to push it through its hole, then donned the kimono and hakama, which were still a bit stiff from the rainwater. He put on the sling for his left arm, then finally the scarf, tucking it under his chin.

The hardest part was looking in a mirror to ensure that the scarf hid everything it should. At length he satisfied himself about that, although his right cuff was too loose to fully cover the scrapes and bruises there. But more than that, looking in the mirror, he couldn’t hide from his scraggly, disheveled hair, the frown that had settled into his mouth, or the rings under eyes that sagged narrow with weariness. _This doesn’t even look like me..._ The tired face looking back from the glass was like that of a stranger. Soujiro tried to smile, that he might catch a glimpse of himself that way, but the lips in the mirror only stretched wider for a moment, and quavered at even that. But he supposed it was true that this was who he was now. He combed the days in bed out of his hair, but the rest he didn’t know how to change.

When he stepped outside at last, the chilly autumn wind braced his cheeks, and he squinted in the sunlight as if he had forgotten how bright it was. In the past few days, it was as if he had forgotten that there was a world outside his rented room, and what it looked and felt like. His mind still couldn’t free itself from its tormented paralysis, so he just started walking blindly and floated down the streets of Kyoto like a piece of driftwood in flowing water. He let himself be carried down the center of the street in the direction other people were walking, occasionally wandering to the side and pausing as if in eddies near the bank, looking at shop-windows, at the majestically varied layers of red and gold leaves, or at the front stairs of unremarkable buildings before being picked up again by the stream.

At length he managed to recall that he had come out to eat, and steered just barely, enough to be deposited at a noodle stand surrounded by open-air tables. He ordered soba with chicken, because it sounded easiest on the stomach, and sat down with it and ate very slowly. A shadow of an ache weighed on his arms, although from weariness in his mind, not his body. It drained him of energy, slowing him down, but with that sick feeling, this was a more comfortable pace to eat, and he didn’t mind how long he sat there.

The noodles were half-gone and cold when a tall man cast a shadow over him and sat down beside him, facing the opposite way with his back to the table. Soujiro didn’t turn to see his face, but his movements were those of a strong, trained body, and his warmth and weight felt too close to be another random customer.

“I recieved your message,” Aoshi said.

He hadn’t caught Soujiro with food in his mouth or even on his chopsticks, so in the pause, he only stared at his bowl. “Oh.”

They sat in silence for several moments. Finally Soujiro lifted another bite of noodles, but stopped halfway to his mouth as Aoshi suddenly turned his head.

“I mean—” Soujiro blurted, but softly. “I... I feel so bad about how it was before... I found what was important to you and I used it that way... When I think about it like that, it’s really the same thing...”

“‘The same thing’ as what?”

Soujiro lowered the chopsticks; his cuff had fallen back enough that he could see the bruises and scabs on his wrist, and he hurriedly pushed it down onto his hand. Maybe Aoshi, or someone else, had seen those marks, where he had struggled against his manacles while any defense he might have had against ‘what it was the same thing as’ had been choked out of him, in preparation for the final blow that had hurled him into that night. Again in the rain, a bloody sword, the headless horse twitching...

It was more than he could take, and he sprang up from his seat with a terrified, joyless smile. “I have to be going now,” he said hurriedly as he turned.

“Ah, sir, just let me get your check—” a shopgirl’s voice brought him up short. His face fell, and he whipped his head around so abruptly that his shoulder hurt at it. Had he even thought to bring money? Yes, but she was coming so slowly, he knew his hands would fumble to find it, and already his face burned with fear and shame. He started to turn back and found Aoshi standing in front of him, looking down at him with what, for Aoshi, was a strong look of shock and dismay.

Soujiro couldn’t face it. His heart pounded in his ears; he could barely breathe. In another moment of this, he would surely faint. With one faltering step back, he braced his foot, kicked off, and ran hard into the street.

After a few explosive strides, he slowed to a gentler pace—still a fast run by normal standards, but easier on his legs and not so conspicuous. It was slow enough to weave through a crowd and disappear. He didn’t fully stop running until he felt safely far away from the noodle-stand, and he slowed up and veered off to catch himself against the wall of an alley. He knew that people walking by could see him, but he stood there with his hand and forehead against the bricks, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

His stomach was knotted up again. His eyes ached and threatened tears. How had he become so pathetic, that he’d been forced to flee at such a little thing? And now it was even worse—the food turned over in his stomach at the realization that he’d stolen it, but it was more than he could do to go back and face it and make amends, almost more than he could bear to have anyone at all see his face. “Killer,” “thief,” he felt as if it must radiate from him; it must be written on his forehead in invisible characters that everyone could read and see it and blame him as they walked past him in the street, even as they walked by and saw him standing here...

He just had to get back to his room; there, he would be hidden and safe. How he would ever step outside that room again and deal with this, he didn’t know, but for now he could just go back there and rest and think, maybe gather courage to do better... He thought he must be deluding himself on that last point, but anything was possible...

Soujiro realized that he didn’t know where he was or the way back. Since the moment he’d left, he hadn’t paid any attention to where he was going. Now, he froze up at the thought of looking at someone and asking for help, so he could only pick a likely direction and start walking. Still unable to focus his mind on the task, he wandered around in the streets for hours before happening onto a place familiar enough to lead him back. Normally, the walk wouldn’t have tired him, but long after he wanted to stop, he was still trapped outside searching, so he was very weary when he finally found the building and went inside. He stared at the floor as he let himself into his room, and closed his eyes as he shut the door again and leaned against it in exhausted relief.

A slight shuffling sound alerted him to another person’s presence, and Soujiro whipped around as they spoke.

“I was starting to wonder when you were coming back,” Saitou said, rising from one of the chairs at the table. He held up a folded sheet of paper. “You have work tonight.”

Soujiro fell back against the doorframe. “Another one? Already!?”

“That’s right. This _is_ what you agreed to; it won’t do you any good to whine about it now.” He put the paper down on the table next to the empty cracker-box and the sword. “Your orders are all there.”

They passed each other as Saitou crossed to the door and Soujiro stumbled over to the table in a daze. He moved to pick the paper up and look at it, but he froze when he touched it, as if it had given him a paralyzing sting. How could he unfold it? Why? It was going to outline another night like that one, another long climb back toward the sun, and like today, he knew he wouldn’t make it far before being knocked down by another letter like this. He knew he would never get out from under them again; they would just keep coming and bury him alive.

“No!” he cried.

Saitou turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t do it! I won’t!!”

“Hmph. You’re as stupid as Battousai, but you aren’t strong like him. As long as you live, you’ll be the killer Shishio created. Put away your idiot idealism and do your job, or roll over and die. I don’t care which.”

“No!!” Soujiro screamed. _‘As long as you live, you’ll be the killer Shishio created,’_ and Saizuchi had asked him ‘What else are you good for?’ Just weeks ago, he’d known a life that he was much better for than this. They asked him that when they were the ones who discarded that life, who decided to take happiness, peace, and love as worthless. “You’re wrong!! _You’re wrong!!_ ”

“Am I.” He intoned it as a statement, not a question, and reached for the door-handle.

“Stop!” Barely even knowing why, Soujiro didn’t want him to leave. Saitou certainly wasn’t going to help him, but with him gone, he would be left alone with that letter, like there would be nothing else left to do, as if there was anything left to do now.

After one glance back at him, Saitou turned the knob.

Out of blind desperation, Soujiro’s right hand still frozen on the paper darted to the side and snatched up the sword by the handle. He drew it past his chest where his left hand in its sling could take off the saya(1) and let it fall, and he pointed the bare blade at Saitou. With nothing to say, he only stood there breathing heavily.

Saitou lifted his hand from the door. Silent, eyes sharpened, he drew his sword and took up his Gatotsu stance in a motion at once swift and hypnotizingly fluid. The stance itself was utterly expert: the fingers of his right hand poised on the blade to guide its point with precision while his left arm was coiled behind it for devastating power, and his legs crouched for a powerful lunge, but not so much as to sacrifice maneuverability.

That last day with Shishio over a year ago was the last time Soujiro had seen anything like it, and he belatedly realized the deadliness of his situation. He’d been in places like this before; he knew what to do, he was sure of it. Always before, his old skills had come back easily when he needed them—he knew that this one was there, too. He could see it, but somehow couldn’t touch it, as if it were there in his mind behind a wall of glass, and he was only pounding vainly on its surface while his body stood here, frozen in front of Saitou’s sword.

When the attack came flying across the room at him, his dodge was no more than survival instinct, and against such an opponent, that wasn’t enough. He was able to avoid taking the swordpoint in his body, but his right hand suffered the blow in friction as his sword was ripped out of it with such focused power that it must have been the target all along.

Instantly, Saitou pivoted at the waist, bringing his right hand around for a blow to Soujiro’s forehead that tore him off his feet. His head, his back, and his broken shoulder were slammed against a wall, but as the impact faded, he couldn’t fall. By the time he realized that it was Saitou holding him up by a grip on his bangs, the katana was already wedged under his chin.

He squeezed his eyes shut; with every breath, he could feel the sharp edge against his throat. In another second, it would slice through his neck and take his head off—after everything he had survived until now, he was going to die here, this pitifully. That second seemed to stretch on and on as his mind clung desperately to the last moment of his life, and he was torn between maintaining that grip as if he could put off the deathblow forever, and screaming at himself to let go and have it over with.

But neither of those were what he really wanted. _Please... I don’t want to die..._ his mind pleaded, but he couldn’t speak. His body was paralyzed with sorrow and fear that gathered behind his eyes. As tears formed on his face, he realized that it was not just a single moment, but that Saitou was actually holding him here for the agonizingly long time it took for the drops to grow heavy enough to fall and make their way down his cheeks. His sobs were small, quiet ones, with his throat still checked by the blade.

In a moment of unbelievable blessing, the edge lifted away. Saitou threw Soujiro down on the floor by his hair and sheathed his sword again.

“If I were feeling charitable, I’d put you out of your misery,” Saitou said. “It would be the best thing I could do for a worthless, broken swordsman like you. But as for today, if you want to kill yourself, use your own sword.” With those words, he ground Soujiro’s relief at being spared into the floor under his heels as he walked back to the door. “If those orders aren’t carried out tonight, I’ll send someone along tomorrow to collect your corpse,” he said and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Soujiro lay there on the floor for some time, struggling to absorb what had happened. What had he been thinking?? He’d drawn his sword on Saitou not in the least wanting to hurt him. Worse yet, he’d started the fight when winning it would’ve meant throwing everyone back home to the wolves—if he hadn’t done that anyway. No, he had to think not yet...

It seemed Saitou was right; he almost had to be. Soujiro had drawn his sword because he wanted to die. _But I don’t. ‘Use your own sword’?_ Although he didn’t even know what he was hoping for or clinging to anymore, he knew he couldn’t turn the sword on himself. But he also couldn’t face that paper, couldn’t face going on like this... Attacking Saitou had been a desperate attempt to make someone else resolve the problem for him, not even thinking how, just so _he_ would’t have to decide. He clenched his face against yet another stifling layer of shame. How had he become so pathetic?

 _Saitou-san was right. You’re worthless when you’re broken like this._

Broken... _I am a person who doesn’t kill._ He felt a distant echo of happiness just saying it to himself; he was proud of it. It felt so right, but it wasn’t really true anymore. Now he was someone who didn’t kill but who did kill, a person who didn’t kill whom the Meiji Government had broken. _Why... why...?_

 _That’s the way things happen. They’re stronger, so they can do what they want with you. “The flesh of the weak is food for the strong.” Whatever you wish or say, that’s real life._

“No, that’s not true!” he cried aloud, grasping his hair. _It doesn’t have to be true, what Shishio-san said... I was nice to Kotori-san—_

 _And she’s dead anyway._

 _—And my Ojisan and Obachan!_ He shouted louder in his mind to drown it out. What was that voice!? _I protected Tomi-chan where she was weak! Himura-san helped me! That’s my real life!!_

 _Not anymore. This is your real life._

“Stop it!” he screamed. “Stop it! Leave me alone!!”

His demon only laughed at him. _Wow, you really are being pathetic._

What was happening? It wasn’t his voice—or it was, but not his words. There was no one else in the room; it was in his mind where he couldn’t escape it. His brain was having thoughts that weren’t his own, and he couldn’t stop it. He put his hand on the floor to try to rise and get away from it, but his body lay like dead weight. At last he pushed himself up, but the sensation was of freeing himself from the load, not moving it. He buoyed up to a sit, floating as if in a dream, awash in yellow-white light. In a moment, the image resolved itself; he was sitting on the floor of a wide room, with the sun diffused but streaming through its paper walls, and a vast floor of tatami mats. _This room...?_

“If I saw anyone else acting like this, I’d think they’d have to die,” the voice continued behind him, “but it wouldn’t make any sense to say that to you, now, would it?”

Soujiro turned to face the speaker and found a mirror-image smiling back at him. No, not exactly a mirror; it didn’t look the way he knew he did now. The face was chipper, not weary like him, but although the blue eyes were wide and bright, the smile didn’t put an arc under them like the joyful smiles he had worn before this situation. The clothes were also different—no scarf here; the kimono was the old blue and purple he used to wear, crisp and unmended as before his battle with Kenshin, and this figure was wearing the waraji and tekkou(2) from that fight. Soujiro recognized the sword at his hip as Kiku Ichimonji. This was an image of his past self, the emotionless Tenken no Soujiro, crouched at eye-level to look at him, elbows resting on his knees as he balanced on his toes. “It looks like you’re starting to recognize me,” he said, in his old, ever-chirpy tone.

“What... What’s happening?” Soujiro asked.

“We’re sitting here talking, naturally,” Tenken told him with a laugh.

“But why are you here? Why am I seeing you like this??” He clutched his head again and moaned. “Somebody help me... I’m going crazy...”

“Well, you might be crazy, but the other thing is why I’m here. I’ll help you.”

“Help me...? You?”

“Sure. It doesn’t look like anyone else is going to, and I did when you needed it before, didn’t I?” He didn’t wait for an answer to continue. “You can’t do this job, right?”

Soujiro paused. “I guess that’s right...”

“So I’ll do it for you.”

“Ehh!?”

“Of course!” Tenken insisted. “I was always good at things like this. In fact, Shishio-san is gone now, so I guess that makes me the strongest.”

“But you lost to Himura-san...”

He shook his head merrily. “The one he beat was you, not me. Don’t you remember?”

Soujiro looked around and hesitantly stood. He remembered it very well, that battle in this room, its unfamiliar sensations, things Kenshin said that struck home inside him as nothing had in years. He slowly walked across the wide floor, toward the closet where he’d gone to change his waraji lace. _What was it he said...? “Someone who could kill without feeling wouldn’t care about the responsibility of not killing. I think somewhere inside of you, you need it.” I did need it..._

“That’s right,” came a comment from behind. “Myself, I _could_ kill without feeling, so it didn’t matter to me.”

“Stop listening to what I’m thinking!” Soujiro wailed.

“Did I? To me it sounds just like you were talking out loud.”

 _So what he’s saying is that to fight Himura-san, I changed... into who I am now..._

“Right again.” Tenken smiled at him. “For the first time in ten years, you saw something you wanted for yourself, in all the silly things Himura-san did and said, so you went easy on him while you were figuring out what to do, and by the time you were ready to fight him seriously, you’d given away your technique, _plus_ you're so emotional he could see everything you did before you did it. If you’d just left it to me, at the very start, I would have—”

“Don’t say it! Don’t say it!!” Soujiro shouted. He’d come to the wall by the closet, and kept facing it as he buried his face in his hands. He already knew it, and it was so horrible he couldn’t bear to hear it said. If he’d just been content to remain as he was, in such a serious situation, he would have gone all out from the first, used true Shuku-chi and maybe even Shun-ten-satsu immediately. Even Kenshin, he probably would have been dead before he realized what was happening enough to counter, and after that, Sanosuke, as well. In Tokyo, both of them had helped him so kindly... He almost dared to think of them like family, too; at least for his part, he loved them. He shuddered to think he could have done such a thing, if he had been this other self. Even Shishio—whatever part of him respected and missed Shishio and Yumi would have been absent, so he couldn’t even say he’d have done it to help them. This other him had said ‘Shishio-san is gone now’ without so much as a sparkle in his eye.

“Well, that’s the way he taught me. He’d think I was stupid himself if I got sentimental like you.”

So terrible... “Go away!” Soujiro cried. “I’ll never go back! I don’t ever want it to be like before!!”

“But if it hadn’t been like that, you’d be dead; you can’t deny that. Shishio-san was right, after all. You wanted to see for yourself, and for awhile you were able to keep running from it and have things your way. It looks like you really had a good time, but that’s all over now. If you try to hang onto it, you’re just going to be miserable and die.”

“No... no...” he moaned, sinking to the floor against the closet doorframe.

“You know I’m right, but you don’t need to get so upset.” Tenken came up near him and crouched down again. “I can handle it, no problem, just like I used to do. That’s a better idea than getting killed by Saitou-san, isn’t it?”

Soujiro shook his head violently. “I won’t! I don’t want... I don’t ever want to be like you! Not ever again!!”

Tenken laughed. “You won’t ever be like me. You never were. It was never just one or the other of us, you know? In the ten years with Shishio-san, you let me take care of things, but you were always there, and you were like you are now, you just hid where nobody could see you. Sometimes I don’t think you even knew yourself where you’d gone. And since you’ve been managing things, you still don’t get upset at things that upset other people, although you’re probably touchier than they are, really. Do you think that doesn’t have anything to do with me?”

“I’m not like you anymore...” he sobbed.

The other him gave a sigh through his smile. “You’re really stubborn. That thing has to be done tonight, though, so we don’t have time for you to sit here and cry about it. You want someone to get you out of this, don’t you?”

He looked up and found the two of them here and now in the rented room in Kyoto, sitting at the table where the paper lay beside the cracker-box. His saya was still here, too, where he had drawn the blade from it and dropped it. It was late afternoon, and the sun cast deep yellow light and long shadows instead of the ivory glow of Mugen no Ma(3)—except on Tenken, who was still washed pale by that glow as he sat facing him from the other chair.

Soujiro looked at the paper and knew that it would outline where he had to go and whom he had to kill. To save the people he loved, he couldn’t just ignore it, so to save whoever it condemned, he would have to kill himself—and die hoping that the government would just let the charges against his family drop without the incentive of controlling him. Maybe it was horrible and selfish, but he knew he couldn’t do that. So he would have to kill again, destroy more lives, break more hearts, create another ghastly scene... And with the cracker-box empty, when it was done, he would have to present himself to the world in his guilt and shame, or else lay here in this room and starve. That was all he had to look forward to. _Yes, I want someone to get me out of it..._

“Well, there you have it,” Tenken declared, and picked up the paper without a hint of hesitation. “Let’s see here...”

Soujiro noticed the motion, but didn’t break from his reverie. _I wanted someone to get me out of it so badly that I drew my sword at Saitou-san. It was pathetic of me to do that..._

“Yes, I think that was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Tenken remarked, eyes on the paper. “This is easy stuff. I will have to work around that broken shoulder, but still...”

 _It was wrong for me to do that_ , Soujiro continued to himself. _Saitou-san said I was weaker than Himura-san, too weak to be anything but a killer... I said ‘you’re wrong, you’re wrong,’ but then I proved him right... Now I’m proving him right..._ He remembered what he had learned at the time he visited Anji in prison. _My real strength... to listen to my heart and follow it, at least as much as I can, for myself..._ And here he was giving that strength away, as he had given it away for ten years on that first night with Shishio... _I was wrong... **This is wrong!**_

“What’s wrong?”

 _My real strength—_ “Give that to me!” Soujiro shouted.

“Eh?” Tenken turned to him blithely, still holding the letter.

“That paper! That’s mine, give it back!!”

“Just forget about it. For me, this will be a breeze.”

But Soujiro was determined; he knew it was absolutely necessary that he get that letter back, that he face it with his own heart, no matter how much it hurt. He seized the saya from the table and spun to his feet; with one swift, sure stroke that swept the empty box off the table, he had the tip under his other self’s chin. “ _ **Give me that paper and get out of here!!**_ ” he roared.

Tenken’s smile had fallen, but he only blinked quizzically at the saya before putting it back on with a little laugh through his nose. He stood slowly and set the letter on the table on his way up, smiling with laughing eyes even as Soujiro kept the weapon trained on his throat. “If you still want to try and do it your way, you can have that back,” he said, “but really, you can’t tell me to go away. I’m still part of you, so I really can’t leave.”

“Stop it!” Soujiro ordered. Although he’d won—he had the letter—those words sent him halfway to panic. “ _Get away from me!!_ ”

“I’ll always be here, if you decide you want my help after all.”

“No! Get away! I don’t want your help _ever_!!”

“I can’t help it, and neither can you.”

“ _ **Shut up!!**_ ” Desperate to escape him, Soujiro drew his sword-hand back to his hip and lunged forward with a wide stroke like a battou-jutsu. Tenken made no move to counter or defend, but Soujiro’s movement suddenly felt encumbered, as if he were dragging an enormous weight. His attack followed through, but met no resistance, and the inertia of the unexpected load sent him toppling. Blindly, he put out his right hand to catch himself, and with a strong push, lifted his shoulders from the floor. At that moment, he recognized the weight as the sensation of pulling himself up from deep sleep, as if awakened by the events of a dream.

That was what had happened; it had to be. Looking around, he found that he was still laying on the same spot where Saitou had thrown him down. The paper, the cracker-box, and the saya still sat on the table, and his sword still lay on the floor, across the room.

 _It must have been a dream..._ But he remembered every detail, everything his other self had said. He couldn’t deny the truth of it, or at least, couldn’t afford to drop his guard against it...

The sunlight was fading as evening fell. _Tonight..._ He couldn’t waste any time. Picking himself up, he crossed to the table and took the hard-won letter, unfolded it, and began to read. As Tenken had said, it was an easy setup for him. Like the last one, entirely too easy. As he made his way down the page, his body began to shake with sobs. His tears falling on the paper made blurred brown-grey pools in the ink.

Even his real strength, this was as much as it could get him now. After all, the government was stronger. He knew that Shishio’s old saying didn’t have to be true, but they had chosen to make it true for him. _Like my family, before Shishio-san... They’ll bury me under work I can’t do, but I’ll do it anyway. They’ll hurt me whenever they feel like it, and then when they’re tired of me..._ After this many years, he could still remember laying there in the rain, fighting to look back over his shoulder as his brother drew his sword, the way it caught the moonlight, that terror... _“Somebody, anybody, please help me—!”_

But to be saved the way he had then, to survive at such a cost... _Not again... This time, instead of that..._

Anji-oshou had said “You could have chosen to die.”

 _This time..._

Saitou had said “Use your own sword.”

 _No, not like that. Not now, just someday, when that time comes... And until then, I can carry this pain... for myself..._

 _...by myself..._

He squeezed his eyes shut, dropping another tear onto the paper, but he already had the information he needed. He put his saya in his belt and carried the letter over to the cold stove, lit it with a match, and watched the flame grow until the message would certainly be consumed before putting it in. He closed the small iron door on the crackling paper, then crossed the room to pick up his sword.

 _Owari_

Footnotes:

1\. Saya: the sword-sheath.

2\. Tekkou are the hand-guards. (And to remind, waraji are the longer straw sandals, and Kiku Ichimonji is the sword Soujiro used in that fight.)

3\. Mugen no Ma: the name of the room where Soujiro fought Kenshin.


	9. Secrets and Lies, first half

Secrets and Lies  
Part One

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

 **_Tokyo, October 29, late morning_ **

Kenshin sat on the porch of Sasaki’s school while Sanosuke leaned against a nearby tree; both were bundled in winter clothes, which still looked unnatural on Sano, but there was no denying that Winter was in the air. Autumn this year had been a coup d’etat, and now within just a few weeks the trees were bare of leaves. The sting of cold in the wind warned of snow before many weeks more.

“Wonder what the teacher wanted to talk to you about,” Sano mused.

“I don’t know,” Kenshin said. “I’ll find out soon.”

Through the sliding door behind him, he faintly heard the voices and movements of Sasaki and his students, structured into unison like a sacred choral chant that the teacher was leading, but the children’s spontaneity shone through in snatches, like undertones of singing birds. Just the muffled sounds of it made Kenshin smile. Even as he held his own Sakabatou against his shoulder, he deeply understood another man choosing that path over a sword of any kind. Of course, Sasaki had a bloody past, like himself, but it was immanently true that atonement could be this simple.

Kenshin thought of Soujiro at the inn in Yokohama, living there as family, caring for Tomi—who was inside the schoolroom now—and providing doubtlessly pleasant and cheery room service to the guests. _Atonement could be that simple..._ But with over a month having passed since Soujiro left for Kyoto and not so much as a short letter having returned, Kenshin was becoming anxious.

This morning those thoughts were especially close. He was sure that whatever the teacher had asked him to come and talk about involved Tomi and was trying to prepare himself for bad news, but best not to think too darkly before finding out what it was about.

The chorus from inside turned to chaotic voices and shuffling movements as Sasaki brought the lesson to a close and the children broke into conversation while putting on their coats. Soon the sounds burst into the open as the children poured out of the building. Among them was the close knot of Ayame, Suzume, and Tomi, and Kenshin left Sano to watch over them playing as he entered the now-silent classroom. The children’s shouts lowered again to the level of soft, musical chatter as he shut the door behind him. “Good morning, Sasaki-dono.”

Sasaki, the only other person left in the room, had risen momentarily from his seat before the children’s desks to fetch some papers. He had a mentor’s presence, and was a dignified figure even with his worn face and clothes, his scruffy topknot and beard. “Himura-san, thank you for coming. Please, sit down.”

Kenshin took a seat in front of the head desk. “Is there some trouble involving Tomi-dono?”

“There is a small problem,” Sasaki answered. “I need you to correct the signature on her permission form.” He offered it as he sat down across from Kenshin.

“They realized that the first one was a forgery?”

“No, the trouble is the name itself. You didn’t know about this?”

“No, I didn’t. What’s happened?”

“This is very strange, that you wouldn’t know,” Sasaki said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “According to the government, you have been made her legal guardian.”

“Oro?”

“At the office, I was told they had been instructed to alter Inoue Tomi’s records. I saw the certificate myself. Where the name of her guardian was shown, ‘Inoue Saburo’ was crossed off, and ‘Himura Kenshin’ was written in its place.”

“I see...” Kenshin said and let his face darken solemnly. _So Tomi’s records were changed, to remove her father’s claim on her..._ The only explanation was that Soujiro had achieved it as part of a bargain he struck with the government, but in that case, why hadn’t he sent any word? Letter-post was unlikely to move more slowly than such a beaurocratic detail, and even if the timing was explainable, the form of the action was not. _Why would Soujiro request my name in that place, and not his own, or the Sumidas’?_ Every path Kenshin’s mind could take in that direction was a dark and terrible one.

“I can see that this is grave news for you,” Sasaki said.

He nodded. “You know about Tomi’s ‘brother’.”

“Sanosuke told me the story, and not a day goes by that she doesn’t speak of him.”

“Hearing this, I am terribly afraid for him,” Kenshin said. Nonetheless, he took the brush on the desk and signed the form before standing. “Thank you, Sasaki-dono, for the news. I’ll do what I can about it.”

“You’re welcome, and I hope things go well for that young man.”

Kenshin stepped outside. The three girls were still playing with some of the other children, all their cheeks rosy from the brisk wind. He took Sanosuke aside where they could watch the games with their voices unheard.

“So what about it?” Sano asked. “Something about Tomi-chan?”

“Ah,” Kenshin nodded. “The paper you signed... It was my name that was needed. The government considers her my child.”

“What the—!? Soujiro!”

“If he left her to me this way, it seems he isn’t planning to come for her.”

“Kenshin, you gotta be kidding me!” Sano protested in a sharp whisper. “I saw him face a firing squad for that kid! He’s not just gonna dump her!”

“You’re totally right,” he agreed. “Whatever bargain Soujiro made to include this... I’m sure it also includes a reason why he can’t return. Not only that, but he doesn’t trust that she would be safe in Yokohama, or it would be Sumida-dono’s name there, not mine.”

Sano cursed under his breath.

“I’ll talk with Kaoru-dono and find money for train tickets. I have to get to Kyoto as quickly as possible.”

“Count me in!” Sano said. “I bet I could get Katsu to lend me some cash.”

The fact that Sano was so willing to face his fear of the train for this helped Kenshin put on a smiling face as he walked over toward the children. “Ayame, Suzume, Tomi-dono!”

“Aww, I wanna stay and play!” Suzume complained as the girls came over to him.

“I’m sorry, but we have to be getting home.”

**********

 **_Yokohama, October 30, night_ **

Clouds covered the moon and stars, casting the cold night pitch black as Soujiro approached the outskirts of Yokohama, walking along beside the railroad line. The almost-November wind was uncomfortably chilling, even through two layers of clothes. At dusk, he had seen the ghostly distant lights of the city on the horizon and promised himself that he would reach them before he slept. Now that he was closer, they had disappeared behind hills, trees, and darkness that could hide his hand in front of his face, but his feet could still feel where the linear mound that carried the train tracks began, and he blindly followed its edge toward those lights.

The metal rails conducted the rumble of an approaching train while it was still some distance away. He kept walking in the dark until the roar of it came so close behind him that its lights threw his shadow forward. The shriek of the steam-whistle knocked him sideways, and the buffeting wind of the train passing sent him stumbling dizzily into the edge of the woods—the tracks weren’t raised as much as he had thought, and the train whipped by scarcely three meters away. Soujiro caught himself behind a tree and watched it. The windows of its lighted cars formed a moving string of pictures, blinks of tableaus and faces, some looking out the windows and probably trying to see the person the engineer had blown the whistle at. Very quickly the golden line of windows ended, passed him completely, and continued down the tracks to flicker between the trees and vanish.

After a long pause for no real reason, Soujiro came out from behind the tree and started down the rails again. Sometimes this past summer, if he was awake late and the night was quiet, he would hear the evening trains like that one go by, so it must already be that late. It might be midnight before he made it to Sumidaya; certainly everyone would be in bed. Still, so close, he might as well get there, although his legs ached with weariness and he was starting to yawn. That drowsy feeling was probably why he had let the train come so close...

It felt like hours more, pushing himself forward, blundering through the dark, but finally he came upon pavement and streetlamps that would guide him more easily the rest of the way. The inn was on the outskirts of the city, so from there it wasn’t at all far until he recognized the street leading away from the rails past the neighbor-doctor’s clinic and... home.

Walking down that street in the dim lamplight felt surreal; added to the numbness of fatigue it was a slow, dreamlike sensation. Like going back to the Hiei Mountains again after a year, everything was so familiar, and yet so different and strange...

He drifted to the gate of Sumidaya’s fenced yard and hesitantly unlatched it. He knew there was no lock—the fence was mostly ornamental and too low to keep out intruders anyway—but entering unseen in the still night, he felt like some kind of skulking thief. The hinges seemed to agree as he slowly pushed the gate open and they groaned into the night. His heart sagged heavily as he shut it behind him; all the peach trees in the yard were bare, and like the trees outside town and everywhere now, their knobby naked branches clawed upward like skeleton fingers as the lamplight tinted them barely gray against the black sky. Had he expected to step through that gate and back into full green Summer? Such an absurd notion, but he felt that in some way, he had. He slowly floated down the path and up onto the porch. Everyone else was asleep; the scene was too quiet and peaceful to disturb.

So quiet... Seized with a moment of dread, he went left from the door to look in the kitchen window. In the dark, he didn’t know how he could see anything to tell him if the kitchen was still in daily use, but then he realized that he could feel heat from the wall here. Just on the other side of it was the stove, still safe and warm from tonight’s dinner.

In relief, he sank to a seat against the wall. The brush with fear had reminded him—as he’d been reminding himself on the road for the last two weeks—how foolish he had been to make this journey. Leaving Kyoto without a word, he could very well have arrived here to find the inn in cinders Ojisan and Obachan in jail, but he’d taken that risk so selfishly and for what? Like the trees here that couldn’t grow leaves in the cold any more than other trees could, coming here wouldn’t make his troubles go away, couldn’t wash the fresh blood from his hands.

What was he planning to do? He was kidding himself if he thought he could bear to tell Ojisan and Obachan what was happening, but felt uncertain and ill at the idea of hiding it. But that was what he intended; he knew because along the way, he had kept checking in mirrors, unwilling to arrive here until the telltale marks on his wrists and neck were entirely gone—the broken shoulder wouldn’t surprise them, and as for the abuse it had gotten since, there were plenty of excuses that could cover it healing so slowly. And what choice did he have but to hide it? Surely they wouldn’t have him if they knew the truth, and really, he shouldn’t complain about that because he knew that they would be right and it would be what he deserved. But he also felt a deep and desperate need to be here. Alone in Kyoto, he was sure he couldn’t have endured much more.

So instead he’d risked the people he loved, and now he was going to lie to them just to find some hollow comfort for himself. Even when Reiko had first said “you’re practically family,” he knew it wasn’t real if it was based on false pretense. Staying here as if he were family while keeping this secret, he would only be taking advantage of them. _I must really be horrible..._

He didn’t have to do it. He could still just walk away again in the night and no one would ever know that he had been here.

But his body was too weary for that, almost too weary to deal with walking back over to the door and knocking hard enough to raise someone, and the truth was that right now, he didn’t feel so bad. He’d been berating himself with all these arguments for the entire trip, but now he was drowsy enough to forget their sting, and somewhere on the other side of this wall, Ojisan and Obachan were sleeping. Such a pleasant thought, surely it would be presumptuous to wake them. Secrets or none, tomorrow he would see them again, feel Reiko-san’s gentle touch... Just on the other side of this wall was her oven—her good cooking... For the first time in weeks, Soujiro looked forward to eating with happiness, not just as a chore to keep up his strength.

He pulled his right arm inside his kimono, out of the cold, and nestled his face into his scarf as he snuggled against the wall, clinging to the warmth from the kitchen stove as he settled down to sleep and allowed himself a contented smile. It felt like it had been so long...

**********

 **_Kyoto, October 31, early morning_ **

The train pulled into Kyoto in the dawn twilight, when the chill air was sweet and heavy with dew. Kenshin woke in his seat at the sound of the steam-whistle as they rolled into the city where people were beginning the day's business.

Yahiko had stubbornly insisted that they leave him behind to watch the dojo instead of fussing over money for another ticket, and unfortunately there had been more important things to do than argue with him. Across the compartment, Kaoru was starting to move, with Tomi still resting against her—after serious consideration, Kenshin had thought it best to bring Tomi to keep her guarded, and in case when he found Soujiro it would be Tomi’s help that was needed. Sanosuke was still packed tightly into the seat beside him; judging by the dark rings under his wild eyes, he hadn’t slept a wink.

But nonetheless, when the train stopped, it was Sano who picked Tomi up to carry her; she stirred a bit, but soon settled back to sleep against his shoulder. The train station bustled to receive them and the other passengers as they disembarked, but once they moved beyond that crowd, the city was eerily silent. The air was thick with moisture and potential; businesses were preparing to open behind their silent, closed facades.

Aoiya was also in that state as Kenshin walked up to its doors and knocked. The sound carried loudly in the still morning air.

Light footsteps and Misao’s voice answered. “We’re not open yet! Come back in about a half-hour!”

“Misao-dono, may we come in, please? It’s Himura.”

The lock clattered, then Misao threw the doors open with a delighted squeal. “Himura! Kaoru-san, Sanosuke!” She greeted them with a round of handshakes and hugs. “It’s so good to see you! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming!?”

“Well, it was all very sudden—”

“And who’s this?” Misao asked merrily as she spotted Tomi still drowsing on Sano’s shoulder.

“That’s Tomi-chan,” Kaoru said. “It’s a long story...”

Misao glanced from her to Kenshin to Tomi’s reddish hair. “Is there something you two haven’t been telling me?”

“No, no!” Kaoru insisted with an awkward laugh. “It’s not like that, just... I’ll tell you all about it once we’re settled, okay?”

“That’s a good idea,” Sano grumped. “You guys got a spare room? Tomi-chan’s still out and I really need to crash...”

“Sure, come on,” Misao said, leading the way. “Didn’t sleep?”

Within Sano’s muttered reply, “train,” “dark,” and the names of various supernatural creatures were noticeable.

Kenshin and Kaoru followed behind them and saw Okina coming down the stairs.

“Ji-ya!” Misao called up to him. “Himura’s here!”

“Ah, Himura-kun, good morning! It’s been awhile,” Okina greeted, joining Kenshin and Kaoru at the foot of the staircase while Misao took Sano and Tomi to a room. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m sorry that it isn’t just a friendly visit,” Kenshin replied, “but I’m looking for someone who I believe came to Kyoto recently.”

“Tenken no Soujiro, by any chance?”

“Then he was here!?”

“Yes,” Okina answered, crossing the dining room. “He was right here in this restaurant, in fact.”

“Where is he now? What happened?” Kenshin asked.

Okina leaned in the kitchen door. “When breakfast is ready, bring meals for three up for us, would you please?” He turned back to Kenshin. “Aoshi and I will talk to you about that upstairs, but I warn you, you won’t like what you hear.”

As Kenshin’s heart sank, Kaoru must have noticed, and she took his arm. “Make it for four,” she said.

Okina looked at the two of them, then back into the kitchen. “Make that breakfast for four.”

**********

 **_Yokohama, October 31, early morning_ **

In the cold, Soujiro’s sleep was solid and black, tempting him neither to wake nor to dream, but it was unrestful. His body was still filled with an exhausted, leaden ache, even as the fingers of a whitening dawn reached between the peach trees to tickle him awake. His mind stirred to drowsy consciousness while his body remained sleeping and still. The welcoming wall behind the stove had cooled through the night, but now he heard the distinctive wooden noise of it being loaded with fuel. Very soon it would warm again, and he resettled himself against it with a sleepy moan.

“Did you hear that?” Reiko-obachan’s voice came through clearly, strangely altered by the wall. She was probably a meter away from Soujiro, but she was in another world.

“What?” Ojisan asked her.

“I heard something behind the stove. Come here.”

“Please tell me we don’t have mice.”

“Just listen. I think there’s someone on the porch.” Her voice was quite loud; she must almost have her head in the cold stove to listen for him.

“All right, I’ll go see...”

Even as Ojisan spoke and walked away, Soujiro was overcome by the mental image of Obachan bent over with her head in the oven and broke into giggles. Her delighted cry resonated in its metal walls and he heard her dash away.

The sounds from inside the inn had been dreamy, like sounds underwater, but strangely, it was quieter and less real when he heard the front door open and Ojisan’s footsteps. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Hey, you. If you’re a paying guest, come on in, but this isn’t—”

“Junzo, wait!” Reiko cried, running out and past him. She dropped to her knees in front of Soujiro and lifted his face out of his scarf, where she could see it. “Soujiro! Oh, you’re back! I’ve been so worried!” He was still trying to force his eyes and voice open as she guided him to his feet. “What are you doing out here!? Sleeping on the porch on a night like this! You could have frozen to death!!”

“I got here really late. I didn’t want to wake you up...”

“How ridiculous! You silly boy! We’ll have to warm you up and get you some hot breakfast before you catch cold.” She pulled him inside, into the kitchen, and sat him in a chair near the stove. At last he pried his eyes awake; the kitchen was the first thing he was able to see clearly as Ojisan came in after them.

“Soujiro, what happened? Where’s Tomi?” he asked.

“She’s... She’s with a friend. I know he’ll take good care of her, better than me...” Soujiro mumbled.

“Where have you been? What’s happened?”

He was far from able to answer those questions. “Please, I just... Not now...”

“We’ll worry about all that later,” Obachan insisted as the fire caught in the oven and began to crackle invitingly. “Junzo, honey, go get ready to open up.”

“Oh, right,” he said. Before he turned away, he clasped Soujiro’s good shoulder. “Good to have you back.”

As he left, Obachan set various pots on the stove to cook. “I’ll have some breakfast ready soon. Get a hot meal in you, you’ll feel a lot better.” She turned toward Soujiro—he just sat quietly where she’d put him—and leaned over to take him in a warm, gentle hug. “My poor boy... It’s been awful for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yes...”

“It’ll be all right,” she soothed, stroking his hair.

He rested his face into her shoulder, wishing he could take comfort in her words.

**********

 **_Kyoto, October 31, breakfast_ **

“You said that I wouldn’t like the news,” Kenshin said across the breakfast table to Okina and Aoshi, as Kaoru sat beside him. “What happened? Is Soujiro still alive?”

“Probably he is,” Okina said. “I wish I could say it for certain, but no one’s seen him in about two weeks, to our knowledge.”

“But you said he’d been here?” Kaoru asked.

“Yes, he was, and I spoke to him. He gave me his apology for the trouble he caused us last year, with Shishio, and told me that he was going to surrender to the police.”

Kenshin left his breakfast untouched but sipped his tea. “He told me that, as well, when I saw him in Tokyo,” Kenshin said, “that he was going to come here and try to make an agreement with the government, like the other Juppon Gatana.”

“And that’s exactly what happened,” Okina said, “but it’s that agreement that’s the problem. Tenken no Soujiro is the Meiji government’s assassin now.”

“What!? Assassin!?” Kenshin cried.

“Yes. We can attribute two incidents to him in the past month, with four people dead.”

Kenshin clung to his teacup, struck speechless.

“I can’t believe it...” Kaoru said, numbly setting down her bowl of rice. “When we saw him... I wouldn’t have thought he’d ever go back to being like he was...”

“He didn’t do so by choice,” Aoshi spoke for the first time.

“We’re quite certain of that,” Okina added, “and here the news becomes even worse.”

Kenshin’s eyes widened. “What happened? Please, tell me!”

Aoshi answered. “I saw him briefly, just before his disappeared from this city. . . .”

~

 _When Aoshi arrived at the noodle stand where Soujiro had last been seen, one glance across the tables found him surprisingly still there. He wasn’t hard to recognize, but since the last time Aoshi had seen him, so long ago back in Shishio’s base, he was vastly changed. Even after encountering him just a week before and seeing his broken arm and “haunted” eyes, Okina had not described him like this. His head and shoulders drooped under the weight of a wine-red scarf, his movements were slow and tight as if encumbered by physical pain, and even this oblique view made it obvious that he was not wearing his characteristic cheery face._

 _Aoshi sat down beside him, and although he didn’t turn his head, by the way he tensed, Aoshi knew that he’d been recognized. “I recieved your message.”_

 _A long pause. “Oh.”_

 _They both sat still and silent until Soujiro lifted his chopsticks; at a peripheral flash of recognition, Aoshi turned toward him and he froze. With his hand raised and still, Aoshi could clearly see scabs above his cuff, as well as a touch of purple that hinted at more serious bruising on the far side of his wrist._

 _“I mean— I...” Soujiro burst out nervously, keeping his voice small. “I feel so bad about how it was before... I found what was important to you and I used it that way... When I think about it like that, it’s really the same thing...”_

 _“‘The same thing’ as what?”_

 _As he lowered his hand, he obviously noticed the bruised wrist himself and pulled his cuff forward too late to hide it. He didn’t answer the question; his breath was shallow and fast. From the side, Aoshi could see one of his eyes wide and absent, as if looking into another world, terrified._

‘Haunted.’

 _Soujiro suddenly sprang up from his seat. “I have to be going now!” he cried; he’d managed to stretch his face into a smile, but it wasn’t hiding anything._

 _“Ah, sir, just let me get your check—”_

 _He turned sharply toward the shopgirl’s voice as Aoshi stood—his greater height gave him a view downward, under the scarf where it had cupped Soujiro’s chin before he turned. The darkness there was more than just a shadow; within it, a purple stripe was dyed into his skin. The way he wore the scarf, so close around his neck, wasn’t for the sake of the weather. He was hiding another bruise there, the distinctive mark of a garrote..._

 _Aoshi’s own shock at the sight paled in comparison as Soujiro turned his face again, drained white, wide-eyed, now openly terrified. Their eyes met for barely a moment before he stumbled back and fled into the street with a loud hammering of footfalls. Aoshi ran to the edge of the seating area after him, but he’d buried himself in the crowd; with Soujiro’s speed, a foot-chase would be useless..._

 _The shopgirl came up beside him and glanced around into the street. “Geez, I hate bums like that.”_

 _“Give me the check. I’ll pay it.”_

 _She looked up at him. “Ah! Aoshi-sama!”_

~

“Hidoi(1)...” Kaoru breathed into her hand. She reached down and gently took Kenshin’s wrist. He was staring down into his cup of green tea, which rippled in his tense hands.

“Gomennasai, Himura-kun,” Okina said. “I had not fully realized how deeply this news affected you.”

He shook his head. “Because of that, I’m grateful to hear it from you.”

“To make him kill again, I’m sure they had to threaten his life...”

“Not only that,” Kenshin told him. “I don’t think that Soujiro has any blood relations, but the child who came here with us is his sister, who he saved from a dangerous home and left in my care when he decided to turn himself in. A few days ago, I found that the government suddenly considered me her guardian. He also has an elderly aunt and uncle. In Tokyo, he was willing to lay down his life for them; I’m certain that they were threatened, and in becoming an assassin again, he sacrificed himself to protect them.”

A long moment of silence. Aoshi’s long exhalation could almost be a sigh.

“Do you have any idea at all where Soujiro is now?” Kenshin asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” Okina said. “We found the place where he was staying, but by that time he had gone, and we don’t know to where. We’ll do our best to find him for you, and with some of our resources, I think we have a good chance.”

“I hope so,” Kaoru said.

“The reason may surprise you, though.”

“Oh?”

“It turns out that Shishio may have been overconfident, but he wasn’t imprudent. A good deal of what he built is still standing.”

“What?” Kaoru said. “But I thought, when we won...”

“It’s true that the leadership is gone, and most of his fighting army was arrested, but he left behind his network of informants and safe-houses. The Meiji government has had a few internal witch-hunts and gotten rid of most of his spies, but the mass of person-on-the-street contacts... It was structured as an underground, with each point in the web as insulated from the others as possible so that no one person’s interrogation could bring down more than a tiny piece. Because of that, we have no real idea how extensive it is because its members themselves don’t, but I suspect we’d all be shocked if we knew. To destroy the entire thing would be a massive undertaking, and with the government anxious to erase Shishio, they don’t want to make that much noise.”

“But without a leader, what do they do? —You said these are _your_ resources?” Kaoru remembered.

“Not in that way.” Okina said. “They aren’t exactly our friends, but we have gained some contacts there, and in this case they’re probably our best asset; they watch the old Juppongatana as closely as they can.”

“Hoping for one of them to finish what Shishio started?” Kenshin surmised.

“So it would seem, but I don’t think that will happen. As Shishio’s right hand, Soujiro would have been the most likely candidate, but I doubt he wants a thing to do with it, if he even knows it’s still in place. Still, for it to stay so organized this long, I have the general sense of some standing orders holding it together. It’s rather alarming, and this also makes the government’s treatment of Soujiro difficult to understand.”

Kenshin saw his meaning. “Instead of using Soujiro as an assassin, they could have commanded Shishio’s remaining followers through him.”

Okina nodded. “If Soujiro stepped forward to lead them, I’m sure they would follow him, even into an alliance with the government, and no one would have been hurt. I think he would easily have agreed to that.”

“Then why...?” Kaoru wondered.

“If Soujiro was to be their liaison, it would have meant treating Shishio’s legacy and Okubo’s killer with lasting respect,” Aoshi said. “Hubris and revenge were more appealing to them.”

A long silence. Kenshin slowly sipped his tea to steady himself.

“Even Shishio’s informants don’t have access to information the government has,” Okina said at last. “In that, you’re more well-connected than we are, Himura-kun. Police headquarters here in Kyoto is where it all happened; if you go there, you might find some answers yourself. Katanagari no Chou may be willing to help you.”

“Thank you,” Kenshin said.

**********

 **_Yokohama, October 31, morning_ **

Soujiro numbly entered he and Tomi’s old room and closed the door softly behind him; just over one month, and already it was their “old” room...

Obachan had pressed hot rice and soup on him until he couldn’t eat any more, all the while lamenting how thin he’d gotten, and he supposed she was right. Now that he was cosy and warm, and his stomach stuffed full, all the sleepiness of his night in the cold was settling down on him, and Obachan had brought him back here and left him to take a nap.

It was a surreal sensation to find everything just as he’d left it, not even dusty. They must have been keeping it up for him, and now it was as if every item had been frozen in time. His dark blue Sumidaya jacket lay on the trunk in the corner. He and Tomi’s futon were folded in the usual place; his eyelids were getting so heavy, unfolding his futon for a nap loomed like a huge task.

He took off his scarf and the blue-and-brown outfit he was wearing over his white uniform. As he piled the clothes on his right arm, he noticed the tsuba from Okawara-san and the old stuffed horse still on their shelf, untouched as everything. He walked over and gingerly picked up the horse, but as he lifted it, the rice-husk stuffing spilled down inside its neck, and its head fell over brokenly. He didn’t want to deal with that, or to think about swords, either, so he picked up both mementos and took everything over to the chest in the corner.

Soujiro set his jacket aside, opened the lid, and hurriedly hid everything under the layers of old clothes already there, but they weren’t letting him forget anything, either. There was Tomi’s yukata, white swirled with red. He’d stuffed things under his own old blue kimono with purple trim—it had been the one the other him had worn in that terrible dream, but it was something different now. He eased himself down to a seat in front of the trunk and pulled it halfway out where he could see the distressed almost-tear across the chest and collar from the _Amakakeru Ryuu no Hirameki_. With his right hand, he felt the mend in its left sleeve where he had saved Okawara-san, pushing an old rusty sword into his own arm.(2) _Back then, I saved someone from dying. It used to be I was like that..._

In his weariness, he leaned against the trunk without meaning to, pushing its rounded lid against the wall until it lost balance suddenly—it nipped his left elbow through the sling and bit down on his old kimono with a dulled _snap_. As the surprise faded, he knew he should open it again and fold the kimono back inside, but he was so sleepy... He rested his head on the lid, still clinging to the purple collar and the mended sleeve.

**********

 **_Kyoto, October 31, mid-day_ **

Kenshin waited most of the morning by a battered wooden desk in the police station before he faintly heard one of the officers saying “Chou, there’s someone to see you.” He turned and watched over his shoulder until Chou conspicuously came into view.

“Oh, it’s you, huh?”

“It’s been a long time, Chou.”

“Cut the pleasant crap. What’cha want?”

Kenshin stood. “I’m looking for—”

“Soujiro, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Take a number,” Chou scoffed, nonetheless leading him into a richly-furnished conference room and shutting the door behind them. “He skipped town ‘bout two weeks ago and nobody’s found him yet.” His voice dropped to the level of an aside. “If he’s smart, nobody will, either.”

“Please,” Kenshin said. “If there’s anything you could tell me that would help me find him, it’s very important. His life may be at stake.”

“Hey, you tell me. I was only here when it happened.”

“Then as someone who was here, please tell me about it.”

Chou half-sat on a corner of the massive desk with a frown. “Ain’t much to tell. He turned himself in and they offered him the job they wanted him for—even got that old bastard Saizuchi in here to negotiate a deal, but he said no. They gave it to him as that or agonizing death and he still said no, so Saizuchi found what was worth it to him. They twisted his arm, gave it to him like that, and he said yes.”

“To protect Sumidaya, and Tomi.”

“Something like that.” Chou sighed. “He ain’t nothin’ like he was. I swear, they made a killer out of a little kid, but hell, for Soujiro, it ain’t the first time...”

“But after being made to kill again, he still isn’t anything like he was...?” Kenshin wondered. _When opponents like Kurogasa have come close to making me kill again, always the Battousai, the killer that I was began to resurface. With my succession technique, I gained strength for living out my oath not to kill, but even now, if a person were somehow to die at my hands, I fear that I as I am might still be lost. Might the Soujiro I met in Tokyo be lost to the Tenken, or...?_

“Not yet,” Chou answered. “But I can tell you, he ain’t gonna last long if this keeps up. One way or the other, he’s gonna snap.”

Kenshin looked at him; Chou glanced at his eyes for a moment and took the cue to continue. “I was probably about the next-to-last person to see him before he took off, at the second job they gave him. . . .”

*

 _As the small squad of police flooded the yard, the house was silent—no surprise. If this was going according to plan, everyone inside was already dead, and hopefully it was going that way; the higher-ups had timed this one tightly. Word had arrived that the boss of some criminal syndicate was visiting his parents and expecting a contact at their house. An assassin had been sent ahead to clear the way, and it would be Chou and these police waiting to arrest and interrogate that contact—who was arriving soon, so they had to secure the house quickly. Chou took the point and entered cautiously with a sword at the ready._

 _Scouting the entry hallway, he heard a noise and spun around toward an open doorway. He had advanced two steps toward it when Soujiro appeared, the sling on his arm showing like a white flag against his dark clothes. He meandered out until he caught sight of Chou, put on a smile, and seemed to come together. “Ah, Chou-san, you’re a little late. It’s all done already.”_

 _Chou lowered his sword. “What are you talking about? We’re right on time.”_

 _“Well, no matter,” Soujiro went on obliviously, starting past him toward the door. “It’s pretty weird anyway, for Shishio-san to send backup for me.”_

 _Chou started and put out an arm to block him as he passed. “Um, Soujiro... Shishio’s dead.”_

 _Soujiro looked up at him not-quite-incredulously, but his look quickly faded to one detached and thoughtful. “That’s right. I know...” He cast a distressed look back toward the doorway. “But then... Why did I do this...?”_

Shit, this is touch-and-go enough without him here freaking out... _“Look, is there anyone still in the house?”_

 _“No...”_

 _“We’re clear!” Chou called outside._

 _As the police swept into the house, Soujiro suddenly clutched his head and screamed._

 _“What?” one of the officers paused._

 _“Don’t mind him, he’s our assassin,” Chou said._

 _“Sir?” the man asked Soujiro. “Do you need some help?”_

 _“Get away from me!!” he shrieked. “I don’t want your help!!”_

 _“Just get him out of here!” Chou commanded, following the rest of the force into the living room._

 _“The house is secure,” another policeman informed him. “These were the only people here.” Chou followed his gesture to look at the corpses of the elderly couple and their middle-aged son, the real target—only those three; thankfully “all done already” didn’t mean Soujiro had killed the contact. By the look of it, only the son had had time for even a half-step out of his seat. There was very little blood on the floor; each victim had been killed with one thrust through the head. Somehow that bawling child in the entryway was still a near-perfect killer..._

 _Chou could still hear him crying though the doorway, and with a growl of exasperation he stormed back out to find Soujiro crouched in a corner, curled with his face in his hands while that officer prodded at him awkwardly._ Don’t have time for this... _Chou seized Soujiro by the collar, yanked him up, and punched him across the face—not a hard blow by his standards, but enough to get his attention and send him stumbling into a wall. “Dammit, Kid, the whole world ain’t gonna stop for you to sit here and cry!” he snapped. “The rest of us have still got stuff to do, and we don’t have time for this bullshit, so shut up and get your ass out of the way!!” Soujiro stared at him in shock as he turned to the policeman. “You, take him home!”_

 _“I... I can get home,” Soujiro said._

 _“Then do it! Now, dammit, **now!** ”_

 _Soujiro faltered for only another moment, then scurried out of the house like some small animal being chased off._

 _“For the perfect killer, he can be fuckin’ worthless...” Chou grumbled to himself on the way back to join the group, although he knew the reason why._

~

“I see...” Kenshin said darkly. To think that he was back in the days with Shishio, it seemed Soujiro was indeed in danger of losing himself...

Chou had begun rifling through the conference room’s file cabinets in front of him. “So kill me, we were flying by the seat of our pants that night,” he said. “Will you quit breathing down my neck? Go sit down! —Near as we can tell, he stopped back by his room to grab his stuff and left town like that night or the next morning. All we found there was his sword. They’ve got some people looking, but nobody’s seen him since then.”

Kenshin backed off a bit and stood by the desk. “What about Sumidaya? Has anything happened there?”

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time if they don’t find him. They’re watching there, since it’d be an obvious place for him to turn up.”

“Do you think that’s where he’s going?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” Chou glanced back at him before opening another drawer. “I told you to sit down. —He’d be stupid if he did turn up there. He _ought_ to drop the martyr bit and just skip the country, but I’m not bankin’ on that, either. You probably don’t want my guess.”

“Yes, I do, no matter how bad it is.”

Chou looked back at him again before saying it. There was just enough dullness in his voice for Kenshin to notice. “When he was locked up here, he was talking about Houji. If we find him, we’re gonna find him dead. —There, I thought this was still in here...”

Kenshin faced him as he at last sat down at the desk, but he was distracted by the height of the chair. It was uncomfortably tall; his feet didn’t touch the floor.

The file cabinet rumbled shut. “Yeah, the tall chair trick,” Chou remarked, seeing his reaction. “They use that when they want to squeeze people. Including Soujiro.” Before Kenshin could reply, Chou tossed a large string-bundled file onto the desk with a loud _bam_. “That’s pretty much everything they’ve got on him. Have a look, maybe you can tell where he’s going with that psychic thing you do. For what it’s worth, I hope if anybody finds him, it’s you,” he added under his breath as he headed for the door.

“Chou,” Kenshin said after him, “thank you very much for your help.”

“Yeah, whatever.” As he left, he seemed to recognize someone outside in the station. “Oh, hey. Battousai’s here.” The door clacked shut on any response.

Kenshin stayed alert to the door for several moments before turning to the file in the silence. Looking into it felt like prying, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity and certainly couldn’t waste a chance for clues that might help him find Soujiro. However, opening it on the desk and reading it from this elevated seat felt unnatural to him, so he carried it around to the other side. The chair there was low enough that with his feet on the floor, his lap angled upward, and he balanced the file there as he opened it, starting at the back where the paper had yellowed with age. There was a newspaper clipping about a Seta family who owned a rice distributing company, all of them killed by a fugitive...

**********

 **_Yokohama, October 31, afternoon_ **

Life at Sumidaya quickly got back to normal, and Soujiro was again in his uniform and jacket, lending a hand where he could, or at least trying. Even yet, he couldn’t escape what had happened in the meantime.

The lunch dishes were piled by the kitchen sink, but they could smell the blood on his hands where Obachan and the guests couldn’t, and when he went to wash them, they scattered away from him like minnows. He grabbed one squirming bowl and plunged it into the bubbly sink, but the others were headed for the door and he darted to head them off. There was no way he could carry them all back to the sink at once, but he knew he couldn’t let even one escape. Dishes scurrying around the floor like mice were sure to upset the guests—worse than that, if anyone realized he’d spooked them, he’d be found out. That thought panicked him, and there was nothing to do but throw himself at the impossible task of piling them all in his arms, clutching them against his chest even as more and more wriggled free, leaped to the floor and ran off again. He was trapped in the doorway trying to keep them in the room.

“Soujiro!”

When he heard Obachan call him, he dropped the armload of dishes and they smashed to pieces on the floor. The survivors bolted past him and out of the kitchen, tripping him up as he ran toward her voice.

There were strange men in the entry hallway, who wore brown suits and had no faces—they didn’t wear masks or strike him as faceless monsters, he simply didn’t see any faces on them as they were dragging Ojisan and Obachan away through the door.

Soujiro’s panic at this didn’t feel like that with the dishes, not like anger or fear; it was quiet and stilling. The scene before him moved surreally slowly, but not as slowly as his own mind, so although he spent a very long time watching one of the men draw a black shape out of his jacket, by the time he identified it as a gun and thought to dodge, he was already hearing the bang.

It was neither loud nor painful; he didn’t even feel an impact in any specific part of his body, just a soft jolt and then the world was tall and sideways as he found himself laying on the floor. He couldn’t move a muscle. Ojisan was already out the door; as the men pulled Obachan away by her arms, he tried to cry “no! no!” but he couldn’t make a sound—not even his breath would move. _It must have gone through my heart. I must be dying._ Although he felt no pain and his vision remained clear, he fought to live against that logical conclusion, but he was utterly paralyzed. He didn’t know what he could do.

Reiko-obachan kept calling his name. “Soujiro! Soujiro!!”

“—Soujiro?”

He wrenched himself up still hearing her voice, and he found her kneeling beside him as he lifted his head from the trunk and a kakebuton shuffled off his back. He moaned and rubbed his eyes blearily.

“Maybe I should have let you sleep.”

“No, I just had a bad dream...”

“There’s someone here to see you,” she told him.

“Wha? Who is it?”

“I don’t know the gentleman, I just know he asked for you. Should I tell him to come back later, or...?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Soujiro said, disentangling himself from the quilt and dragging himself to his feet. Whatever it was, he grudgingly admitted that putting it off would end up even worse than facing it.

“All right. He’s waiting on the porch for you,” Obachan said, walking with him as far as the kitchen and going to work there as he continued alone out to the porch. He froze as he found a man in a brown suit sitting on the edge of it.

When the man looked up, he at least had a face, with a mustache. “Ah, you are here. I heard that you’d arrived this morning.”

“Yes,” Soujiro said numbly. He drifted down the porch steps to stand at the man’s level.

“You realize it was a dangerous thing you did, just disappearing like that.”

“Yes.”

“If you relocate again, you must notify us. Report in at a police station.”

“Yes, I will.”

“I hope so.” The man stood. “I’ll be back when we have work for you.”

“I can’t...” Soujiro started and faltered. “I don’t have a sword.”

“What? Surely...”

“Well, they gave me one, but I forgot it in Kyoto, I don’t have it.”

The man sighed. “I’ll take care of that, too,” he said, and walked away across the yard.

Soujiro watched him exit the gate, then looked around. The sky was opaque with dirty-cotton clouds hanging over the grass whose green had dulled and was further muddied by drifts of brown leaves. The bare gray-tan trees were an even drearier sight now than they had been the night before.

“Soujiro?”

“Ah!” He whipped around to find Reiko-obachan looking at him from the doorway.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody, really,” Soujiro fumbled for a cover as he went back inside and past her. “Just someone I used to know, before.”

“Before?” She lowered her voice as she followed him. “You don’t mean in the time with that Shishio person...?”

He laughed nervously. “No, it’s not like that! Just don’t worry about it,” he insisted, wandering urgently back into his room and shutting its door between them.

At first he breathed a sigh of relief at getting away from the need to hide everything, but within moments, he realized that he didn’t want to go back to sleep, and the room was quiet and lonely, with nothing to do. Having come in here and closed the door so deliberately, it would be awkward to explain coming back out again so soon. He’d trapped himself in here for awhile, alone.

 _to be continued..._

Footnotes:

1\. “Hidoi” is the Japanese adjective for “cruel.” To say it like this would be a sort of shocked “Oh my god, how cruel,” but it sounded more natural to me untranslated.

2\. Again, see my story Owaranakatta.


	10. Secrets and Lies, second half

Secrets and Lies  
Part Two

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

 _**Kyoto, October 31, late afternoon** _

Kenshin had barely touched breakfast and come to the station before lunch, now skipping it entirely as he sat for hours, reading, thinking over, and re-reading Soujiro’s file. As the afternoon passed he began to feel hungry at last through his distress, but he ignored it. This opportunity was more important.

The file, however, was largely fruitless. Most of it was taken up with Tenken no Soujiro’s time with Shishio, in which Soujiro had said that years of calling Kyoto home had yielded no real attachment to it. The scattered sightings since then had the potential to be more telling, but for the most part, he had left the police far behind. The reports were about a trail too cold for anything but the sketchiest information, random glimpses of places he had wandered through. He’d been seen in his old hometown where his family had been killed, but Kenshin’s intuition told him certainly that that had been a one-time visit. There was plenty about his stay in Tomi’s hometown, but without Tomi, there was no reason for him to be there. For significant locations, that left Yokohama as the only lead.

Kenshin found himself between two conclusions: Soujiro had gone back to Sumidaya, or he’d gone back to wandering. He hoped for the former and thought it likely—after such a tremendous sacrifice for their sakes, he could hardly think that Soujiro would vanish and leave the Sumidas unprotected. However, he could also imagine him taking to the road after all this—a lone wanderer could be seeking his truth or running from his troubles. Kenshin, who had walked that fine line for ten years, knew this very well and from both sides, and admitted to himself that if he’d been forced into such a situation—perhaps if he had been forced to kill Kurogasa or Shishio—he very well might have run. If Soujiro had done that, it would be much harder to find him and help him...

Normally, such meaningful encounters and common ground as Kenshin had with Soujiro would have given him sure insight into what he would do at a time like this, but somehow this situation seemed strange and wouldn’t fall into place. From what he had heard, Soujiro was fiercely resisting the killer inside him, clinging to the new self he had found found even at the cost of terrible pain, but his disappearance meant he wasn’t totally given to self-sacrifice, either. That middle ground was in a way heartening, but also volatile and difficult to read. That was why Kenshin kept scouring the file; he hoped that the more of this information he could absorb, the more likely he was to see which way Soujiro would turn.

The sunlight from the window had drooped sidelong and gold by the time the clock struck five and he recognized that he had done all he could here. Between the two main possibilities, a telegram to Yokohama could answer the question; if Soujiro had gone there, he would probably have arrived already, or the Sumidas could let him know when he did. He gathered up the by-now-familiar papers into their file cover and left it untied on the desk as he stood, stretched—his legs were stiff from sitting in that low chair so long—and went out into the station.

Most of the officers were putting things up for the evening; the desk where he had waited was just on the other side of the conference room wall, and as he neared the corner, the white-gloved hands of the person sitting there sorting the day’s paperwork came into view first, then a lighted cigarette—

At that, Kenshin recognized the way those hands moved, and bounded forward to bring the desk fully into view. It was impossible, but the recognition was sure—“Saitou!”

Saitou looked up at him so calmly that he must’ve been waiting for it specifically, and showed him a smug, one-sided smile. “You look so shocked.”

“When Shishio’s fortress exploded, Sano said that you—”

“And you believed that moron for a year and a half.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “I’m disappointed.

Kenshin had collected himself and smiled. “I’m glad that he was wrong.”

“That isn’t very wise of you. I am going to finish our battle someday—although not today.”

“Wise or not, it’s who I am,” he answered comfortably.

“Of course: the kind of person who travels this many miles to champion an old enemy, but it’s good to see you taking some responsibility, not just filling his head with your nonsense and then throwing him to the wolves.” He gathered his papers, tapped them even on the desk and took them to the filing cabinet.

Kenshin frowned at him with narrowed eyes. “If you value responsibility here, then how do you countenance working for the ones who threaten small children and the elderly to get what they want?”

“You’re cutting the list short, aren’t you?” Saitou asked around his cigarette as he put the papers away.

“What do you mean?”

He closed the cabinet and returned to the desk, again looking smug. “I should have known it wouldn’t occur to you. We knew perfectly well where he left that girl, and he didn’t want us to consider taking her from that place by force. Do you suppose he was _only_ thinking of her?”

His implication broke over Kenshin like a wave of icy water. “That... that’s impossible.”

“No. That was a provision of his contract; you and your group aren’t to face charges for the crimes you committed in hiding him from the police,” Saitou said flatly as he ground out the cigarette-butt. “As I said, it’s good to see you taking some responsibility.”

Kenshin knew that Saitou was baiting him and knew not to let himself be played, but he couldn’t remain silent at all this. “Why did you do this?” he demanded, Saitou seeming to have risen to the role of the government’s voice in the argument. “Soujiro had found a new life for himself that didn’t harm anyone—a way to take responsibility for what he’d done, by living his life and doing good with it, more than if he were killed or locked away. You’re the ones who made him a killer again, and now you want to the lay the blame on him and me, who believe in atonement and peace!?”

“It’s not as if this were forced on some innocent victim,” Saitou pointed out with condescension. “This is Okubo’s assassin, who killed more people for Shishio than you did for the Isshin Shishi, going only by what we _know about_ , and neither Shishio nor his right hand concerned themselves with such niceties as sparing old women and children. That is what the name ‘Tenken no Soujiro’ means, which he created for himself and will be until he dies—just as you will always be Hitokiri Battousai, no matter what you say. Only you would call it responsibility to let such a person turn his back on all of that and do as he pleases.” As he spoke, he took his coat down off a rack and put it on. “You’ve had the strength and luck to secure that for yourself until now—Seta Soujiro doesn’t. The Meiji Government thought itself very generous in not having him tortured and executed, but letting him live _as what he is_.”

“You’re very mistaken about who he is,” Kenshin said, following as Saitou started across the station. “If you truly understood him, you’d know that what you’re doing to him now is the cruellest execution of all, and I won’t let you go through with it!”

“You’re right about one thing at least, but he’s made it an execution for himself,” Saitou said. “He’ll suffer and die clinging to the illusion he learned from you, and if you truly intend to wish him the best...” he paused with his hand on the front door handle and looked back at Kenshin, “...then you should pray that it comes soon.” With that he was through the station’s doors and disappeared into the traffic of the dimming evening street.

**********

 _**Yokohama, October 31, dinner** _

Soujiro sat by the trunk again but left the quilt laying as it was. Instead of sleeping, he sat puzzling over what he would say when he came out of the room, what he would claim to have been doing, but none of his ideas seemed beyond suspicion, and his fears only intensified when he held each plan text to them, so he kept sitting there, pondering nervously. Bodily, he sat still, but his mind worried at the room like an animal pacing a cage.

He had been sitting there like that for a long time when he heard soft, hesitant knocks on the door. “Soujiro? Are you coming out for dinner?” Obachan called gently.

“Yes, I’m coming!” He seized the chance and emerged to see her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, leading the way down the hall. “You’ve shut yourself away all day.”

“I was just tired,” he bluffed. The hours of brainstorming had left him more confused than prepared. “I walked all the way here, you know? So I was taking a nap again.”

“Oh, did I wake you up?”

He paused as they sat down around dinner in the kitchen; he knew he hadn’t responded like someone just waking up. “Um, no, I woke up a little while ago, and I was trying to get back to sleep, but I couldn’t.”

“Well, you should have just come on out,” she said. “Your Ojisan and I could have used your help serving dinner.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” she insisted against his dejected tone. “We’ve managed until now, and I know you were tired, poor dear.”

As she patted the back of his hand, Ojisan entered. “Ah, I see you’re finally out of bed.”

“Yes,” he answered.

Ojisan took a seat next to him. “Now, then, I want to hear all about what happened while you were gone.”

Again, Soujiro was stranded with no satisfactory plan. “Well, it’s kind of...”

The older man paused between mouthfuls of dinner. “If it’s a long story, you can at least get started on it.”

“I just... I don’t know what I should say about it...”

“Now, Junzo, honey, be gentle. He’s obviously had a hard time,” Obachan said. She turned to Soujiro. “Aren’t you hungry, sweetie?”

He belatedly realized that he’d been ignoring his food and hurriedly started prodding at it with a bright, intentional smile. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“I would at least like to know where Tomi is,” Junzo persisted. “You said she was with a friend of yours?”

“Yes, she’s with Himura-san in Tokyo. I know he’ll take care of her and keep her safe.”

“Better than you, you said?”

“Well, things with me are still kind of...”

“Are the police still after you?” Obachan leaned forward and whispered.

“No, no...”

“You lost them?” Junzo asked.

“Well, no, I... I gave myself up, actually...”

“Oh! What happened!?” Obachan asked.

Soujiro had talked himself into another corner; this conversation had him even more trapped than his room had, and although still managing a cheery face, he felt squeezed and hot as he tried to answer. “Well, they... they wanted some things from me, about before, was all, and they let me go...” he trailed off in a tangle.

After a moment’s pause, Obachan suddenly took his arm with a distressed whisper. “My goodness, did... did they interrogate you? Did they torture you!?”

He pulled away from her slightly but she held on. “Eh? Areh? Well... ah...”

She held him closer with an arm around his back. “Oh, my poor boy... It’s no wonder...”

His heart shuddered—what did that mean? “No... no wonder what?”

“You just... Today you seem so very changed...”

He turned back to his food, putting on all the smile he could muster. “It’s okay. I’m okay, really...”

They ate in silence for several moments.

“So they let you go, but things still aren’t where you could go get Tomi?” Ojisan picked the questioning back up.

“Well, we’re still kind of working things out...”

“Was that why that fellow was here to see you earlier?”

He nodded, chewing on a small bite.

“I thought you said that was someone you used to know,” Obachan said.

Soujiro knew he was caught, and could only try nervously to laugh it off. “I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to be upset...”

“Oh, you should know better than that. Whatever happened, if it was so bad, we’d rather be there for you and know.”

He just stayed silent. _She wouldn’t say that, if she really knew..._

Ojisan pushed back his bowl and took a deep breath to speak. “Well, if you’re working this out for yourself, I trust you can take care of it. Just let us know if you need our help. I’m going to go look in on the guests,” he said as he stood, then showed a jovial smile. “And you two can figure out something you can do for awhile with one hand.”

“I can manage,” Soujiro said, relieved that Ojisan had put him on safer ground.

“Back in a bit,” he said on his way out of the kitchen.

Soujiro and Reiko-obachan ate silently for a moment, side-by-side.

“Don’t listen to what he says,” she said at last, very softly. “He was worried sick while you were gone, and all day while you were in your room. I knew you were tired and tried to keep him from going in there, but I wonder if maybe I should have told him to go in and talk to you instead of stewing all over the house.”

“Really?” Soujiro pictured himself and Ojisan, each nervously pacing on opposite sides of the door, but the door wasn’t really the barrier between them—being in the same room only gave the true divide more sting. “I... I guess things will work out eventually.”

He had almost said “I’m glad he didn’t come in,” but had stopped himself.

Obachan sighed and took a drink of her tea. “I suppose it’s not really fair, to expect everything just to go back to the way it was...”

“No, I guess it’s not...”

**********

 _**Kyoto, October 31, evening** _

Kenshin got back to Aoiya late for dinner; Kaoru was busy helping the Oniwabanshu collect the dinner dishes. Tomi was also helping—she seemed right at home here after living at Sumidaya—and Masu and Kon were fussing over her delightedly.

“We saved dinner for you; it’s in our room,” Kaoru told him as he crossed the restaurant.

“Thank you.”

Tomi overheard and broke away from the women to run over to him. “Did you find Soujiro-oniichan? Do you know where he is?” she asked.

He stopped in the doorway of the room, where Sano and Aoshi were waiting, and crouched to talk to Tomi at eye-level. “No; we missed him here, I’m sorry.”

“But you said...” she started, looking close to tears.

“He did come here, but I don’t know where he is now.”

She took a hopeful gasp. “Maybe– Maybe he’s going to Tokyo; maybe he’s coming back for me.”

“If he is, we’ll get home soon to meet him,” Kenshin said. “But Tomi-dono, he’s in a difficult situation. I truly don’t know when we might see him again.”

“What do you mean?” She was obviously reading the worst meaning into his words.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I mean that I don’t know how long it will take, so you’ll have to be patient, and you’ll have to keep believing in him, and not give up on him even if it takes a long time. But we will find him. You will see him again. I promise you that.”

They were reassuring words, but his gravity in delivering them left her staring dumbly.

“Come on, Tomi-chan,” Masu said, coming up behind her. “Once we’re done with the dishes, I’ll show you how to make that new string for your bracelet, okay?”

“Okay!” she said and hurried off.

It was a needed invtervention. Kenshin didn’t want to discuss the news with her in earshot, and now only Aoshi and Sano were there as he sat down to eat at last.

“So the cops didn’t know where he was, either,” Sano surmised.

Kenshin shook his head. “Chou gave me a great deal of general information, but it didn’t tell me anything certain. My best guess—my _hope_ —is that he’s gone back to Sumidaya. I’ll send a telegram there in the morning to find out.”

“And if he’s not there, then what?”

“Then it will be much more difficult to find him. I’ve done all I can here, in any case...”

“We’ll keep searching and give you any information we find,” Aoshi said from beside the window.

Sano leaned back with a frown. “Yeah, I was a big help this time, huh?”

Kenshin shook his head with a smile. “No, I’m very glad you came. I’m thankful to know that I don’t have to come here and fight alone.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Sano teased.

He knew it was a fair shot and took it gracefully. “But I did find out something that you should know.”

“Hm?”

“Saitou survived the destruction of Shishio’s base. I spoke to him at the police station today; he’s alive and well.”

“Oh, that’s good. Man, I didn’t even know what was up with that when he...” Sano ground to a halt in mid-sentence.

Aoshi offered a questioning glance which Kenshin self-consciously avoided in the moment of calm before the explosion.

“ _That **BASTARD!!!**_ ” Sano sprang to his feet. “ _Playing dead so he wouldn’t have to finish our fight!! Of all the— **Dammit** , he’s got another thing comin’!! I’m gonna find that sonuvabitch and take him apart **right now!!!**_ ” he roared, slamming out of the room and throwing the sliding door shut so hard that it bounced back open a few inches.

“Do you think that was wise?” Aoshi asked, rising from his seat and crossing to the door.

As he pushed it fully shut, the sounds from outside dropped in volume, but Kaoru and Misao’s voices could still be heard alongside Sanosuke’s ranting. “Sanosuke, what are you—” “Wait! Where are you going!?” “Stop!” “ _Iyaaa!_ ”

Kenshin drank from his bowl of soup. “He’ll be all right. Saitou may be nothing like myself, but it’s a strange connection between the two of them; I’m sure Saitou wouldn’t kill him, and it wouldn’t be the first time we got him out of jail if it came to that.

“Did you know that Saitou was alive?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aoshi answered. “Since he’s usually stationed here, we knew about it almost immediately. It hadn’t occurred to me that you might not.”

“That is, I didn’t ask?”

“Essentially,” he admitted.

Out in the restaurant, Sano’s language had become increasingly inventive. “Sanosuke! We have customers here!” Okina was shouting.

“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Kenshin said.

“No need. Such things happen.”

After a pause, Aoshi spoke again. “Himura, when you promised that girl that she would see Soujiro again... You were very serious.”

“You’re thinking that I promised someone such a thing once before?”

His assent came as a short sigh. “I wasn’t there when that one was made, but it has been that long since I saw you so affected by something.”

Kenshin chewed a bite and swallowed, but was silent for several more moments. “This is not what I fought Shishio for,” he said at last, slowly. “This is not what I fought the Tenken for.”

“I know,” Aoshi agreed.

**********

 _**Yokohama, November 1, early morning** _

After the long, deep nap through the middle of the day and the burdens placed on his mind since, Soujiro couldn’t fall asleep that night. He shut himself in for bed as early as he dared, again to escape the active burden of secrecy, but then lay awake and distracted, managing no more than snatches of fitful dozing.

 _‘It isn’t fair to expect everything to be like it was’..._ Like expecting the trees here to somehow still be green, he knew that he had expected Ojisan and Obachan to immediately act just as they always had. It was true that they had taken him back in without question, but it would be unfair not to expect the painful prodding. Of course they could feel this distance, of course they would want to know the reason for it, and it was only going to get worse. The government had already found him again, which at least meant that everyone was safe, but also meant that very soon, he would have to do their work under Ojisan and Obachan’s noses. He already knew he couldn’t manage that without acting even more suspicious. The raw bluffing that had been so painful today was a burden he would have to carry as long as he stayed here.

Again, he didn’t have to do it. Everyone was asleep now; it would be easy to get away, set out wandering again in the night. His contact had said he could stop at police stations to let them know where he was so his family wouldn’t be threatened. But he couldn’t just disappear and leave Ojisan and Obachan to wonder what had become of him. That would be too cruel a thing to do to people he loved, and he still didn’t want to face all this alone... with himself.

Some far-off voice in his mind said _Isn’t ‘alone’ how I’m doing it now, anyway? If I trusted them and told them, then I wouldn’t be alone like this..._ But the fear instantly pounced and seized him that he would be alone then, with his loved ones’ rejection added to this pain.

Either way was too much for him to face. As hard as it was to hide from Ojisan and Obachan under their own roof, it was the best thing he could do now.

He fell back into uncertainty and reassembled that conclusion too many times to count as he lay waiting through the night. He did it over and over until his logic bled out of focus, often lurching off course then dissolving into nothing, leaving him stranded in the question with nothing to steady or guide him through it.

Soujiro wasn’t aware of falling asleep at last, but he must have, because when he heard knocks at the inn’s front door, it woke him. It was still dark, but Ojisan and Obachan were already up and about. He heard Ojisan’s footsteps going to answer the door and he dragged himself out of bed to get dressed.

He had his shirt buttoned and was putting on his kimono when Ojisan rapped on his door. “Soujiro, that man’s here to see you again.”

His heart plunged; they certainly didn’t waste time about this... Still, better to get it over with. “I’ll be there in just a minute,” he called, put on his hakama, and went out with bare feet and mussed hair.

“He’s out in the yard,” Ojisan said; he’d been waiting at the door like a sentinel and stayed there as Soujiro went outside. A few muted rays of dawn were struggled through the angry gray sky, and the damp air bit with cold even as it warned of rain. _Just for a few minutes..._

His contact waited in a hat and wool coat with a Western-style umbrella’s hooked handle over his arm while Soujiro stepped into his sandals and went over to him. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can,” the man said, leading the way to a more private piece of the yard among the peach trees and producing a paper from his coat. “Here.”

As Soujiro took it and tucked it in his kimono, he knew just what kind of a paper it was.

“I got you the means, also.”

“But, it might cause trouble if I bring that in the house,” Soujiro protested weakly. The last thing he needed was for Ojisan to see him with a sword...

“Naturally. Even if you don’t, we’d prefer that the Sumidas not know about your work.”

“Then, how...”

“During the night we hid it in the bamboo,” he said, pointing to the right front corner of the yard. “Just leave it at the scene when you’re finished; we’ll keep it for you.”

“Okay,” he said through chattering teeth.

“Well, then, the note should answer any other questions. Good luck,” the man said, and walked away.

Soujiro watched him go, but instead of going back inside, he went to the indicated corner and looked into the stand of bamboo; he quickly saw where the sword was propped in the corner of the solid fence, bundled in dark brown cloth and bamboo sticks to camouflage it.

This was the same corner, the same bamboo... A few months ago he had tied his Tanabata wish to one of these stalks—“To live here in peace with my family.” The recollection swelled anger and sorrow and a deep sense of being neglected. If he could find that exact stalk, he knew he would seize it and snap it off, but they were all so changed from then, yellow-brown and dead where they had been green. He couldn’t recognize the one that had failed him, and only stared at them for several moments despite his stinging cheeks and numb, frigid toes.

The first drop of rain hit his eyebrow and reminded him all at once that he had to go back. It was too cold to stand here, and he couldn’t afford anyone to find him here and maybe see the sword. He hurried across the yard and into the house as the first sheet of icy rain swept across the lawn at his heels. Obachan greeted him at the door. “Soujiro! You went outside like that, in this weather!?”

“It’s okay; it was just a few minutes,” he insisted, rubbing a smile into his right cheek, although his hair and shoulders were already drenched. He headed for his room, but Ojisan stood in his path.

“What did he have to say?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing much. I have to meet him and talk later, and he gave me some things to go over beforehand, so I need to get started on that,” Soujiro said, edging awkwardly around him and ducking into the room. “I’ll come out and give you a hand as soon as I can!” The joyless relief as he shut the door had become an all-too-familiar sensation.

The empty room echoed with the sound of the pelting rain. “Those clouds have been hanging around for days; it’s about time they just got it over with,” he heard Obachan say in the hallway.

**********

 _**Kyoto, November 1, morning** _

“Sanosuke and Himura-kun are on their way, then?” Okina asked as Kaoru came into the kitchen, not in her borrowed apron. Kuro was peeling vegetables nearby while Shiro washed dishes and passed them to Misao to dry and put away. Kaoru had already seen Masu and Kon out among the guests with Tomi tagging along, out of earshot.

“Yes,” Kaoru answered. “Kenshin said he wasn’t sure when they’d be back, so I thought I’d better get our things together, unless you need a hand in here.”

“No, we’re doing fine,” Okina said.

“You’re leaving already?” Misao protested.

“Yes, this afternoon or evening.”

“But you just got here!”

“Well, it was all so sudden,” Kaoru said placatingly. “We didn’t arrange to stay long; Yahiko’s waiting for us—”

Misao muttered darkly about Yahiko giving them a cold shoulder.

“—And we’ve done what we came for as much as we could. I wish we could stay for a fun visit. When the weather warms up next Spring we’ll try to come for a week or so, but we just can’t this time. ”

“I don’t get it anyway,” Misao’s voice rose back to the level of conversaion. “Himura drops everything and makes this whirlwind ‘hello-goodbye’ trip, just for this person he met like three, four times, all but one of which they were a heartless monster...”

“But he isn’t like that anymore; that’s the important thing,” Kaoru pointed out. “You ought to know by now, it just wouldn’t be Kenshin if he stood by and let someone be abused like Soujiro is.”

“I know, and I’m not all for letting the government have their way. He just seems to have jumped on it really hard, is all,” Misao said, trailing off slightly as she reached to put away some plates.

“I’m not at all surprised,” Okina said, drawing Misao and Kaoru’s attention. Shiro and Kuro kept at their work, though clearly not oblivious.

“Himura and Seta may have crossed paths only a few times,” the old man continued, “but those times were very significant, including two serious battles—critical points in both of their lives, really. Their first battle, which you witnessed—” a nod toward Misao, “—broke Himura’s sword and showed him that he had to push his skill further to fight Shishio. You could say that Seta led him to his succession technique and Sakabatou Shin-Uchi. In the Hiei mountains, the tables were turned, and it seems Seta was profoundly affected by it.”

“If it was the other way around now, that’d make sense,” Misao said, “like Soujiro was grateful, but anything he did for Himura was an accident. He sure wasn’t trying to _help_ him then.”

“Yes, but Kenshin didn’t totally help Soujiro, either,” Kaoru admitted. “I know he tried to, and of course he couldn’t let Shishio win, but defeating Soujiro got him in trouble with the government the way he is now—I mean, he was a criminal before, but not him alone up against them like this. Kenshin’s probably thinking it’s his fault.”

“He’s not the one being a jerk about this! How would it be his fault?” Misao asked.

“Not fault exactly, but Kaoru has a point; I’m sure he does feel some responsibility for what happens to Soujiro now,” Okina mused, stroking his beard with care not to disturb the bow in it. “But there is something else that’s difficult to explain. It may just sound like an old man’s ravings to someone who hasn’t actually experienced it...”

Misao looked content to take his word for it, but Kaoru turned to him with full interest. “Oh?”

He took a deep breath, composing the thought. “When two people enter into a serious battle, risking their lives against each other, they bind their fortunes together; each one’s fate becomes intimately tied to the fate and actions of the other. If the duel ends in death for one or both of them, obviously this connection is fulfilled and ended, but if both survive, I’ve often observed it to continue. You could almost call it a bond of blood—in both senses.”

“So if two people try to kill each other, it makes them kind of like family,” Misao summarized, clearly less than credulous.

“If it’s a serious battle between masters, it can,” he said.

“It makes a lot of sense to me,” Kaoru said, more musing than arguing. “After all, a fight with Kenshin is what brought Sanosuke into our ‘family’. Nee, Misao-chan,” she turned, “if Kamatari-san walked past you in the street, would you let him go by without a word?”

“No, but it wouldn’t be because I like him!”

“People can feel that connection in many different ways,” Okina said. “It can bind old enemies who never let each other go—like Saitou to Himura—friends like Himura and Sanosuke or Aoshi...”

Misao reflexively looked up at the mention of Aoshi’s name.

“...Or some odd thing in between, like Sanosuke and Saitou—but don’t tell him I said that.”

Kaoru chuckled.

“...Just as members of a family might love each other or hate each other, but are seldom indifferent,” he said. “During the battle that forges it, this bond of blood is very intense. Himura’s non-killing way and his strength of heart have led to battles where he used it to heal his opponent rather than harming them—as when he brought Aoshi back to us—leaving that connection and no hatred between them. In such a case I think it does come close to the bond of amiable family. I’m sure that even if Himura and Aoshi didn’t see each other for years, they would never forget the friendship that was formed in this way; when they met again, that bond would still be there.”

Every mention of Aoshi had seemed to soften Misao’s skepticism, and this time she listened so intently that Shiro had to softly call her back to drying dishes.

“Soujiro was definitely healed in their fight,” Kaoru agreed. “When he came to Tokyo, he was so hurt he didn’t even remember it later, but we found him calling Kenshin for help, maybe kind of on instinct.” She paused reflectively. “Kenshin did seem to treat him like a brother, because they’d been through similar things and turned their lives around in similar ways... He’s probably thinking, too, what if this had happened to him...”

Okina nodded slowly. “As a war nears its end, a man walks away from the battle, forsaking the path of killing...”

Viewing it against Soujiro’s current situation, Kaoru felt the pang of it, and even thought Okina’s eyes were slightly misty.

“One could say that Tenken no Soujiro was the Battousai of Shishio’s would-be revolution,” he said. “Perhaps if Himura and Aoshi are brothers, he and Soujiro are twins.”

“I just hope Kenshin finds him with that telegram...” Kaoru said.

**********

 _**Yokohama, November 1, morning** _

Once he had memorized his instructions—the kill was to be that night—Soujiro tucked the paper back into his kimono, finished getting dressed, and combed his hair, then went out to the kitchen where the window showed a view hardly lighter than night as the rain kept beating down.

Reiko-obachan had collected the breakfast dishes and was drawing water to wash them. “Good morning,” she greeted, and motioned to the table. “I saved breakfast for you.”

“Thank you.” As he looked at the pristine assortment of rice, soup, and pickles, his stomach was already cowering from where that note rested against him and dodged sickeningly at the sight of food.

“Do you know when you’ll need to meet that fellow again?”

“Tonight. It’ll be late, but he said he’d buy me dinner, so I’ll probably skip it until then,” he said. At least that would cut down the number of meals he had to explain his way out of...

“I hope the rain clears up by then.”

“Can I help with the dishes?” he asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” She glanced at the sling on his arm. “I need to go change linens and start the laundry. Junzo said he’d take the dishes, but you can help with that once you’re done eating.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said. Not wanting to look suspicious, he sat down and confronted his breakfast, coaxing himself through a little rice and the liquid from the soup until Obachan finished drawing the dishwater and left the room.

As soon as she was safely gone, he took a deep breath, drank the rest of the soup stock and put the rest of his breakfast in the garbage, burying it under the refuse to hide it. He dropped his dishes in the sink, then pulled out his written orders, crossed to the oven, and opened it to light the paper in the cooking fire. Crouching in front of the stove, he impatiently watched it blacken and curl. The cloying heat and crackling were so loud that by the time he heard footsteps, they were dangerously close, and he hastily dropped the paper into the flames and shut the oven again.

He was just latching it and standing as Ojisan entered. “What were you doing in there?”

“Just... peeking.”

“No food to peek at right now.”

“Well, I wanted to see if maybe the ashes needed taking out, or...” Soujiro’s desperate rambling ran out as he realized that Ojisan was smiling. Maybe—hopefully—he merely thought it childish to peek in the oven. “I can help with the dishes.”

Ojisan gave his usual grunt of assent and started scrubbing a bowl. Soujiro picked up the towel; he could hold things in his left hand enough to dry them. He’d blotted and wiped off two bowls and a teacup when he thought he heard slapping wet foosteps running outside. The sound was negligible amid the spattering rain, but then came knocks on the door.

“I’ll get it!” he said quickly. If it was his contact again, he wanted to take care of it.

Instead, he was met at the door by a deliveryman whose uniform collar just peeked out of his dripping oilskin raincoat. “Is this Sumidaya?” he asked briskly.

“Yes.”

“I thought that’s what the sign said, but I didn’t get a good look running across the yard. Raining cats and dogs, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“I’ve got a telegram for you, from Kyoto. Should I read it to you, or—”

“No, no!” Soujiro interrupted, wishing the messenger would keep his voice down. He didn’t know of anyone Ojisan and Obachan knew in Kyoto, so probably it was the government at him again. The man took the telegram out of his raincoat and handed it over with only a few wet spots.

Soujiro opened it and was shocked to see the name “Himura Kenshin” at the bottom before reading it through.

\----------  
Received from: Kyoto  
Date: November 1, Meiji 12

Is Sojiro there query If no please reply if you see him I am a friend his sister is here

Himura Kenshin  
Kamiya Dojo  
Tokyo

Get Answer(3)  
\----------

Soujiro stared at the message, stunned. Kenshin was looking for him; he was in Kyoto. Surely he knew... The paper trembled in his shaking hand.

“It’s marked ‘get answer’,” the deliveryman said, “so can you tell me if that person he’s asking about—”

“Soujiro, who is it?” Obachan called, somewhere down a hallway but audibly.

“Oh, you’re Soujiro! I’ll just send back a ‘yes’, then,” he said, turning around.

“No!” Soujiro stopped him. His mind was spinning. Kenshin knew he was a killer again. He couldn’t face it, he could suffocate from the shame of it, although... Maybe Kenshin could help him, or maybe he didn’t want to; why should he? _Why shouldn’t Himura-san hate me now?_ Thinking that about Kenshin struck him false, but just what if it might be true? The thought of saying ‘no’ burrowed through his guts—lying to perhaps the one person living whom he had the greatest respect for, throwing away a chance for help, for a friend he wouldn’t have to lie to and hide from—but the paper terrified him. If the risk turned wrong, such an unbearable price... His heart pounded and he stood there speechless.

“Aha, so you don’t want him to know you’re here!” the messenger realized.

“Yes, I... Yes, ah, no. I mean that’s right.”

The man looked at his stricken face and seemed to sober. “Send back a ‘no’; you’re sure?” he asked, more seriously.

Soujiro took a deep, shaking breath. “Yes, I’m sure,” he lied.

“Okay,” the messenger said, hitched up his raincoat, and set off running across the rain-whipped yard.

A wave of emotion hit Soujiro with a feeling like his whole body was seizing up. Half of him wanted—was absolutely desperate—to run after the telegraph man and tell him he’d changed his mind, but he couldn’t move. His body was paralyzed, hollowed-out and weak as if he must collapse in the next moment. In a gust of wind, two stray raindrops struck the telegram still clutched in his hand. It made him sick with shame to look at it, and slowly, as if his hands were pushing through ice to do it, he folded it and tucked it in his clothes. He’d have to burn it, too, have to burn Kenshin’s message... He clung to the door for support as he closed it.

Reiko had appeared in the entryway, looking at him over an armload of linens. “Soujiro, who was it?”

“I...t... it was... It was a salesman!” he burst out, too loudly and with a strained laugh. “He was selling some weird thing I said we didn’t want any...”

She put the laundry aside and came closer to him. “You’re crying.”

Only then did he realize it was true and wipe tears from his cheeks. “I just got some rain on my face, that’s all...” But his breath was ragged as sobbing; he couldn’t control it. Glancing up, he saw that Ojisan and a few of the guests kept in by the rain had been attracted by the commotion and were in the hallway looking at him. He had to force back a wail with his hand to his mouth, trembling all through his body.

“Do you need to lie down?” Reiko asked him, very softly.

He nodded behind his hand and kept his eyes to the floor so he wouldn’t have to look at anyone as she led him slowly back to his room.

**********

 _**Kyoto, November 1, late morning** _

Kenshin and Sanosuke sat waiting in the telegraph office; Kenshin—who wore a bandage on his cheek to hide his scar—had preferred to wait here for the answer to his telegram rather than receiving it at Aoiya. Sano was still fuming; everyone had managed to keep him from going after Saitou. Sitting here with a chatter of clicking telegraphs in the background, however, his anger was giving way to an edgy tone.

“What I don’t get,” he was saying, “is what do they send on those wires that makes a piece of metal miles away write words.”

“All the machine recieves is a series of ‘on’ and ‘off’,” Kenshin explained. “The message is coded in the length and sequence of ‘on’s, short and long ones, dots and dashes. We used codes like that in the war, although messages I got that way were usually done with a flashing light.”

“Yeah, but even that, how does a machine here send that to _Yokohama_ and have it get there in like a few—?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes?” Kenshin looked up as one of the employees approached them.

“Your answer arrived, sir,” the man said, handing over a folded paper.

“Thank you.” As he walked back to the machines, Kenshin unfolded the message and read.

\----------  
Received from: Yokohama  
Date: Nov. 1, Meiji 12

Sojiro not here  
\----------

Sano read over his shoulder and looked at him, but seeing Kenshin’s face, he didn’t say anything. Slowly, Kenshin folded the paper and stood, and the two of them left the telegraph office in silence.

**********

 _**Yokohama, November 1, night** _

As the day passed, the rain tapered off to a gentle shower that came and went, unlike the torrential morning. Soujiro secluded himself in his room again and listened to it for hours. Alone there, he had cried himself out over the telegram, but his tears had faded along with the rain, leaving him cold, gray, and numb. It was a melancholy feeling, but also with an unaffected quality; as afternoon dimmed into evening, he was unable to work himself into tears about anything. Although he had yet to see his “other self” and kept awake for fear of another dream like the one he’d had in Kyoto, that numbness was worrisome, as if Tenken might be sneaking up on him from behind—but it was true that at the moment, he needed to put his feelings aside...

He told himself it wouldn’t be safe to destroy the telegram now—Ojisan and Obachan would probably be suspicious already. Instead, he shut it in the trunk, took out his new brown and blue-striped outfit and put it on.

When it came time to leave, he thought he should worry about what Ojisan and Obachan would say, but he couldn’t find such a feeling in himself. He was going to see that man for dinner as he’d said, and the most trouble they gave him was Obachan forcing him to take a warm jacket and an umbrella, although the rain had stopped again. On the way out, he reached over the fence from the outside to retrieve the sword, which he carried unobtrusively inside the umbrella as he walked down the street, feeling his dread only very distantly, like the remnants of thunder that rumbled far away.

It was another easy job; the target expected to be leaked some government information that had already been intercepted. By the time he got to the appointed place, it had begun to rain again, but he kept walking as it gradually soaked his clothes. The person waiting for him outside the glow of the streetlamps was a woman, a prostitute judging by her gaudy clothes and makeup—unexpected, but it didn’t matter...

She looked out from under her own umbrella and laughed as he approached her. “Do you just like getting wet?”

“Tonight I do,” he said, coming to a halt as if to wait several feet away.

She looked up and down the empty street. “Do you have what you promised me?”

“Yes, it’s in my umbrella.”

She beckoned him toward her. He took a few steps forward and lowered the umbrella, and when she saw what was hidden in it, she only had time for a gasp before the blade flicked out and sent her falling in a wave of blood and jewelry.

The self-defensive numbness that had carried Soujiro this far was obliterated as he saw the woman’s body hit the pavement. Her head spilled onto the street, her hips pitched unnaturally onto the curb. The severed head of her umbrella rolled around in a wide half-circle before coming to rest, while Soujiro’s, still half-closed, merely clattered onto the wet ground around the saya. He had no memory of his instructions to leave the sword, but of his own accord he let it fall from his fingers, blundering back a few steps, then turned his back on the ghastly crime and set off urgently down the street.

He pressed ahead with no sense of a destination—how could he go home after this? When he’d arrived a few days ago, he had had weeks to forget the reality of it, perhaps on some deep, hidden level convince himself that it wouldn’t happen again, but right now, tonight, someone was laying in the street, dead by his hand.

The shame of it wrapped around him, thick and smothering, driven home by a horrific thought: a prostitute... For all he knew, that could have been his mother(4), but would even that have mattered? To avoid the government’s wrath on himself and on the family he had now, even if he could never go home again, he was certain he would have done even that...

The rain again dwindled and died away, leaving him wet and frigid in empty, stiflingly humid air. He shivered from the cold, but also from a weak, sick feeling as if he might vomit. The rainwater left in his clothes became stagnant and grubby, and he felt dirty, as if he must leave some smear of his guilt on anything he touched, as if the filth on him must be something that anyone could see. Surely such a horrific crime was too much to ever hide... In the glistening street in the dark, he hadn’t really been able to see what was rainwater and what was blood. It was possible that he had it all over him, and just couldn’t see it in the dark. If he went home, Ojisan and Obachan might wake up tomorrow morning and find him covered in blood...

But as he walked on, the cold pressed at this distracted mind until he couldn’t ignore it. His wet clothes weren’t keeping it out, and he was becoming dangerously cold; if he didn’t get inside, he might freeze. As terrified as he was of his family finding him out, as sick as he felt at the thought of them laying eyes on him after what he’d done, he knew in the end that he had nowhere else to go. _They were already putting things up when I left..._ he thought. _I can just go to my room and stay there... Until I’m ready... Until I know what to do..._

Slowly, he walked back to Sumidaya, his legs feeling almost too weak and tired to withstand the distance, but at last he came to the low gate. He opened it just enough to slip through, shut it behind him, and walked slowly up the path, eyes to the ground.

At a sound from inside, he looked up and saw a light in the kitchen window. There came a flurry of footsteps, and Reiko-obachan appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from inside. “Okaeri! How was your dinner? —Did you forget the umbrella!? You look soaked!”

He stood frozen to the spot. She was speaking some foreign language. That light was another world, where such a wretched sinner as himself could not presume to enter. An invisible chain bound him to the spot, anchored in the dark night outside the gate and attached inside his belly.

“Well, don’t stand out there in the cold, come on inside,” she said, stepping into her sandals and coming down the porch-steps. It was a surreal, overwhelming and dangerous sight to see her coming, but he couldn’t move. She came so close she seemed to fill his vision. She touched him—put her arm around his back and guided him forward, toward that impossible light.

She pulled him into the end of that invisible chain with a jolt that doubled him over, and he vomited on the grass.

“Soujiro! Oh, my goodness!!”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out through the acid taste.

“Come on inside!” He had neither will nor strength to resist as she bustled him into the house. Trembling all over, he retched again in the hallway, but Obachan hurried him into the kitchen. He seized the edge of the sink and pulled himself over it just in time.

**********

 _**Tokyo, November 2, dawn** _

The train pulled into the Tokyo station very early, but Megumi and Yahiko were waiting on the platform as Kenshin carried Tomi off the train piggyback, followed by Kaoru and Sanosuke.

“Okaeri,” Megumi said.

“Megumi-san, how did you know—?”

“Misao-chan wired me and said you were on your way.”

Sano grumbled about steam and wires, and Megumi gave her lady-laugh. “If you ask me, Sanosuke’s far too young to be so stuck in the past.” She was obviously addressing him despite the third-person phrase.

“Now look...” he started to protest

“Megumi’s right!” Kaoru chimed in, turning on him. “Science is inventing new things all the time, that’s progress! Are you going to be scared of everything new that comes along!?”

As the women scolded Sano, Kenshin resituated Tomi on his back and she yawned.

“Did you find him?” Yahiko asked, yawning sympathetically; he looked bleary himself.

“No, he’d already left Kyoto,” Kenshin said.

“Is he here? Have you seen him?” Tomi asked.

“No. What did you think?”

“He _could_ have come while we were gone...” she insisted drowsily.

“So what now?” he asked Kenshin.

“I just have to keep looking for him, or doing whatever I can.”

Yahiko frowned. “He could come back here himself if he really wanted to.”

Kenshin felt a sting from his words, but reminded himself that Yahiko didn’t know anything he’d discovered in Kyoto—the disparity was so wide that it was difficult to grasp it. “It’s better if we talk about this later,” he said and set off walking, trusting the squabbling group behind him to follow.

**********

 _**Yokohama, November 2, evening** _

“Well?” Reiko asked as the doctor emerged from Soujiro’s room and joined her and Junzo around a teapot in the kitchen.

“You say he’s been like this since last night?” he asked, taking a seat.

She nodded. “He met someone for dinner and got home late, started throwing up in the yard as he came in. When he was still sick today, I got worried.”

“Did you notice anything before that? Did he seem different, or worried, or...?”

“He’s seemed different since he got back,” Junzo said, taking his pipe out of his mouth for a moment.

“Oh? How?” the doctor asked.

“Well,” Reiko said, “you know Soujiro, he was always so happy and _genki_ (5) all the time, but since he got back, he’s always sad and tired. He shuts himself in his room for hours, and then yesterday morning he met someone at the door... He wouldn’t tell me who it was or what they said, but he broke down in tears and spent the whole day in bed, until he went out and came back sick...”

“There’s a lot he won’t tell us,” Junzo put in.

The doctor opened his mouth.

“Please, I’m so afraid for him,” Reiko interrupted. “Do you think he could’ve been poisoned?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “It doesn’t look like turned food or a stomach bug, either. You’re going to think I’m insane...”

“Oh?”

“This looks to me like a case of nerves, worst I’ve seen in years. On Soujiro of all people, I know, it’s unbelievable...”

“Nerves, like nervous system?” Junzo queried.

“No, just _nerves_ , you know. Emotionally, he’s so worked up over something that it’s making him sick.”

They paused in silence. Junzo shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“So what do we do?” Reiko asked.

The doctor sighed. “I’ll give you a sedative; it should calm him down. Don’t tell him what it is, just say it’s medicine and might make him sleepy. Anyway, that should help for the moment, but of course the best thing for him would be to treat the source.”

“I just wish I knew what ‘the source’ was...” Reiko lamented.

“Well, see if you can find out,” he said. “Don’t push him too hard, but just try and see if he’ll tell you what’s wrong. That’s probably the only way we’re going to get anywhere... So, Junzo, do you want to come and get his medicine, or...?”

“Hm? Oh, right,” Junzo said, stirring himself and putting away his pipe as he stood. “Back in a bit.”

“‘Night, Reiko,” the doctor said, getting up to lead the way.

“Good night! Hurry back.” She watched them go, finished her tea, then got up and went to Soujiro’s room. The light from the doorway threw a long stripe of yellow into the blue, dark space, across Soujiro laying in bed, facing the far wall with the quilt gathered up around his ears, just as he had been all day. He curled slightly as if wincing at the bright light, and she pushed the door shut on it and crept over to sit down behind him, gently laying a hand on his upraised shoulder. His shoulder moved a little under her touch with a soft hiss of shifting fabric.

“Soujiro?” she asked quietly. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Last night... did something happen?”

Silence.

“It’s okay,” she assured him.

He stayed silent again, for so long that she began to think he was asleep, but at last he spoke in a weak, quavering voice. “It... it was... the fish,” he said. “It... it didn’t taste right.”

“Oh.” She lifted her hand away into her lap and sat back, looking at his hair, the only part of him she could see, as he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. In the still room, she could hear the small sound of his ragged breath and knew that he was quietly crying.

 _Owari_

(But as usual, Autumn will continue...)

Footnotes:

3\. There is a reason for the odd wording here, I'm not actually suggesting that Kenshin writes this badly. The thing is, I did a little looking around online, especially at The Telegraph Office (http://fohnix.metronet.com/~nmcewen/ref.html), and tried to make this look authentically like a telegram. They didn’t use punctuation, for one thing, so the word “query” represents a question mark. There’s also the word “stop” for a period, but since the rest is still understandable just strung together, and telegrams were charged by the word, the “stop” would probably not have been used here. The emphasis on brevity is also why I romanized Soujiro’s name differently in the telegrams.

4\. See Okaerinasai for previous allusions to his mother’s line of work.

5\. If you’ve delved this far into an anime fanfic without knowing what “genki” means, I’m actually surprised, but just in case: “Genki”: healthy and energetic, also implies an optimistic outlook.


	11. Hanasenai mono

Hanasenai mono  
"Unspeakable"

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Laura Gilkey, 2003

*

Reiko-obachan raised her head as she finished scrubbing a small plate and handed it to Soujiro to dry. Something caught her eye outside the window, and she dodged slightly to see it. “Oh, here comes the doctor.”

“Eh?” Soujiro leaned over to see the doctor next door coming up the path, which cut a blackish swath across the yard. The first snow of the winter had come a few days before and still lay among the trees, shining in the cold white sun, but meandering paths of footprints crisscrossed through it, and between the outer gate and the door, it had been trodden down entirely.

The door rattled open and shut. Soujiro could hear the doctor catching his breath after the frigid outdoor air, and the shuffle of him taking off his coat.

“Ichiro,” he heard Junzo-ojisan greet him. “Nice of you to drop by. Any reason in particular?”

“Just a little,” he said. “I wanted to see Soujiro, actually.”

“Well, he’s in the kitchen...”

Soujiro tensed at the sound of their footsteps. The last time the doctor had been here to see him had been about a month ago, after he’d killed, when he’d been so overcome by his guilt, so ashamed to wear that stain in front of his family, and so desperate to hide it that he had been unable to keep down food.

He still remembered those days sick in bed: fitful, weak, tormented wakefulness; his medicine sending him into deep, black sleep; and the dangerous middle ground where anything seemed possible and his incoherent thoughts still captured by his crime turned into half-awake nightmares. In one the woman he’d killed had been faster than he was and plunged her umbrella through his chest; in another he’d come home covered in blood, and Ojisan and Obachan ran and hid from him while the clawing bare branches of the peach trees seized him and threw him out into the street. While he lay there, he couldn’t tell what was real—even when he woke up, the truth of the floor and bed under him and Reiko or Junzo beside him didn’t feel stable or safe, as if he were laying on the floor of a small boat adrift in choppy waters. Sleep, waking, and dreaming came and went without regard to day and night, which made it all so confusing and timeless that when that boat at last came to solid land and he was able to rise from it, he found that nearly a week had been swallowed by the sea.

Not only that, but Ojisan and especially Obachan had kept asking him what had happened, and even when he came back to a clear understanding of it himself, he couldn’t tell them. The guilt and the fear of their rejection was too much to bear. In a few vulnerably brave moments, he had thought that he should, that he was hurting himself and them with this secret too much not to try breaking it, but if he opened his mouth with these thoughts in his mind, no sound came out. As he tried his best to speak, his lips and tongue made small blundering movements but wouldn’t form the words; his voice engaged only in a small, pitiful moan, and at last he admitted defeat and claimed to have eaten bad fish that night—a story that fell out of his mouth painfully, but without resistance.

As time passed, they reluctantly accepted that answer, and as they stopped prodding at his secrets, he’d been more able to venture outside his room and talk to them about the simple, everyday things until by now the three of them and the inn were running smoothly, with a seeming of normalcy that Soujiro was deeply grateful for no matter how hollow it was.

Junzo and the doctor came into the kitchen. “Ichiro, konnichiwa,” Reiko said.

“Did you want to see me?” Soujiro asked.

“Yes. I know I’m late following up, but how’ve you been feeling?” the doctor asked.

“I’m fine,” he said with a smile. “I haven’t been sick since that time.”

“Sleeping all right? No trouble with nightmares since then?”

“Areh? Ah, why do you ask?” His hands froze on the dish he’d been drying.

“Well, Reiko said while you were sick you moaned and talked in your sleep a lot, like you were having nightmares. I wondered if you were having trouble that way,” Ichiro said.

Soujiro laughed, but his face blushed painfully hot. _I talked in my sleep!?_ Surely if he’d given himself away, he’d have known before now. “Well, I don’t remember any nightmares, even then. I really haven’t remembered any dreams since—” _that last night in Kyoto... At least I haven’t seen **him** since then..._ “...Since before I got back.”

“Well, that’s all good, then,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t actually my main question for you, though. Tell me, how’s your shoulder feeling? You don’t seem to be relying on that sling much now.”

Soujiro realized he was holding the dish in his left hand up to his chest, not resting his arm in the sling he still wore. “No, I guess not. It hasn’t been hurting.”

The doctor gestured him into a chair. “Let’s try taking it off, then. You said you’ve been wearing it for what, two months now?”

“Yes, but I hurt it again...”

“Even so, that would have been long enough ago.” He untied the cloth behind Soujiro’s neck and lifted it away, then started gently pressing on his left shoulder blade, which had suffered the fracture. “Now, let me know if any of this hurts...”

“I do hope you can take it off, finally,” Reiko said.

“Yes, then we could put you back on room service,” Junzo added as he took up drying the dishes.

“Well, I don’t know...” Soujiro said; the doctor massaged his shoulder with increasing firmness.

“Oh, don’t be silly. The guests like you; some of the regulars have been looking for you since you got back,” Junzo argued.

Soujiro opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor spoke up first. “Was all of that all right?”

He nodded.

“Okay, now try to sit up straight as I do this, and again, let me know if it hurts...” He took Soujiro’s arm and gently pivoted it this way and that.

By the time Soujiro turned back to Ojisan and Obachan, they had kept going with the idea. “Maybe I ought to make you a new kimono and hakama,” Reiko said. “Everything that happened to you while you were away, goodness knows we weren’t thinking of that when we picked white for the uniforms...”

“Well, it’s just...” Soujiro broke in at last. “I’d just rather not, right now. I like working back here where it’s quieter, you know?”

Reiko just looked mildly disappointed, but Junzo’s face darkened as he scratched his beard. “It seems odd,” he said. “Before you’d just hop to anything, and get it done faster, too.”

“I’m—”

“Shush, dear,” Reiko scolded her husband before Soujiro could finish the apology. “It’s not too much to ask to let the Boy take things at his own pace right now. After he’s had such a hard fight, I swear he ought to cuff you sometimes, you act so cold.”

Soujiro burst into nervous laughter. “No, it’s okay, really!” He had never seen Obachan talk to Ojisan like that.

“Hold still,” the doctor said. With one hand on Soujiro’s elbow and one under his arm at the shoulder, he lifted his arm up at the joint and inward in a shrug, gently building the force until Soujiro had to lean away from him. “Any pain?” he asked.

“A little. Mostly it was just the muscles stretching.”

“You’re not holding out on me, now?”

He shook his head.

“Well, that’s well within expectations,” the doctor said. “I think it’s safe to say the shoulder’s healed; you’ll just need to be careful. Exercising this arm again will get rid of the stiffness, just give it a rest if it starts hurting and talk to me if you have more trouble with it, all right?”

“Okay,” Soujiro agreed.

“All right, then, I had a spare moment and thought of you, but for now I really ought to get going. I’ll try to come back this evening for a friendly visit.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” Reiko said.

They exchanged their goodbyes except Junzo, who followed his friend out of the kitchen to see him off at the door; he hadn’t said a word since Reiko scolded him.

Soujiro flexed his left arm and hesitantly stepped forward to dry dishes again. Reiko scrubbed and passed items to him in silence, staring dully into the soapy water. After some time, it became clear that Junzo had busied himself elsewhere, and Soujiro again became distracted in the silence.

Reiko had snapped at her husband; in general she seemed cooler with him, and Junzo’s affections had never been overtly warm, but lately he was more remote than ever. Soujiro imagined they must be feeling the same thing he felt and couldn’t escape. No matter how sweet each uneventful day—and he was truly thankful for every one—there was still his secret, the fear lurking just below the surface. He had felt a small hint of it when he’d lived here with Tomi the past summer, knowing that the police were somewhere behind him and that staying, he was waiting for the disaster to come, but the dread he felt now was far worse. The horror was promised—no hope that it would simply pass him by. It had a definite shape, more horrible than he would have guessed in those happy warm days.

And it was coming _soon_. He’d been left in peace for a month now; surely another task was past due. Every day, he became more convinced that it was almost upon him, that it would come at any moment, and somehow he was certain that when it found him here again, it would be the breaking point, that his home here would be lost forever afterward. He felt as if he were building his life on one of the soap bubbles studding the surface of Reiko-obachan’s dishwater, on ground that couldn’t last; at any moment, it could burst and leave nothing but a tiny ripple behind.

But what could he do? He had nowhere else to go—the telegram from Kenshin still lay in the trunk in his room, but while he couldn’t bring himself to burn it, he couldn’t bring himself to reply to it and face its sender, either—and the government was still too powerful to fight or even speak up to. For his own sake, he thought he could have risked it, and if he was honest, he didn’t think any harm would really come to Tomi in Kenshin’s care, but he couldn’t protect Ojisan and Obachan, except by doing what he was told.

That left only one way out that he could think of. Having had a chance to rest for the first time and to think about it more calmly, he was sure that the charges against his family were only a way to manipulate him, and if he were gone—if he were dead—then the government would probably prefer to gloss it over. Maybe Saitou’s advice would be best; after all, this peaceful life couldn’t last forever, and wouldn’t he rather it end like this, than in whatever would be left when the soap bubble burst? Occasionally this thought would wander drowsily across his mind as he lay in bed in the evening, or give him a chill when he was handling the kitchen knives, but he was never serious about it. He thought of it more as an academic point than as a course of action, and talked himself out of it when it came up for good measure. If this peace was so fleeting, then it was precious—too precious to cut short with his own hand, however painful its inevitable end. And Ojisan and Obachan: how could he subject them to such a brutal tragedy? He knew that if he did it, he would leave a note to spare them wondering why it happened, but nothing he could write would spare them the shock and grief. Reiko-obachan would be the one to find him laying in a pool of blood, dead, or worse yet, dying...

He glanced over at her; she looked a little sad to him, but still kept her eyes on the dishes, oblivious to the thoughts in his mind.

And what were thoughts like that good for, anyway? Better to make the best of what he had from day-to-day and only face those horrors when they were forced on him. His bubble wouldn’t last forever, but he could enjoy it as long as it did. That had become his strategy since his sickness had passed, and for the most part it had kept him happy, even if it was the too-grateful, hand-to-mouth happiness of living on borrowed time.

“There, that’s done,” Reiko said, putting that last of the dishes in the drainer; she’d outpaced Soujiro drying them in his reverie. “Just get them dried and put away when you can; I’ll be around.” She headed for the door.

“Obachan?” He stopped her halfway across the kitchen.

“Yes?”

“I... ah...” It had struck him, while they had this moment alone together, to ask her if he really had talked in his sleep while he was sick and what he had said, but what would she answer? What if he had confessed to her without realizing it, and she was just keeping quiet to save his face? His mind might want to take the risk, but his voice wouldn’t consent to it, and he stared at her dumbly until he began to feel guilty for holding her up. “Um, nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Soujiro?” she turned back to him fully and looked at him, her eyes shadowed with concern.

“Really, it’s nothing!” he insisted merrily. “Let me see then...” He turned around and engrossed himself in remembering where to put away the dishes, but he was aware of Reiko gazing at the back of his head for another long moment before she left the kitchen.

**********

Throughout the day, Soujiro became more comfortable with his left arm again, enough that the next morning he volunteered to take the ashes out before Reiko lit the stove, and he carried the heavy ash-box through the long dawn shadow of the inn to the barrel in the corner of the backyard. He walked outside the footprints Junzo had left in doing this over the last few days, and the crystallized surface of the snow resisted for a moment and cracked in facets as his feet crunched through it.

A man was walking along outside the backyard fence and said “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” Soujiro answered brightly, but as he poured the ashes into the barrel and covered it, the man walked over to talk to him across the fence. His breath froze in a dizzy shock he recognized his contact’s mustache.

“Here.” He offered Soujiro a paper and a fat envelope out of his coat.

Soujiro’s hands fumbled to take them, numb from the cold. “What’s this?” He could put off the inevitable paper by wondering about the envelope, and found it stuffed with banknotes.

“We did agree to pay you for your services, but it takes time to arrive, and you left Kyoto in such a hurry...”

Soujiro frowned at it; he didn’t want any money from them. “It’s been a month since I saw you,” he said, tucking everything in his kimono.

“We heard that you were ill, and the jobs we’d been giving you were a waste of you anyway,” the man said. “Now that your arm is healed, we can set you to something more on your level.”

“Oh, I see.” He wanted his sling back.

The man glanced around to ensure privacy and spoke low. “Your job is tonight; the target and location is there in the note. He’s an importer who’s been smuggling cultural artifacts to foreigners, but he has a good public face, so it’s better to handle it this way. Once you’ve finished, undercover agents will take valuables from the house to make it look like a robbery, so if you see anything there you want, no harm in it.”

“No,” Soujiro said simply. He thought maybe he should be insulted at the suggestion, but he’d never had a real sense of honor, so just ‘no’ was enough.

“Of course. Anyway, that’s not a real problem, but we need you for his bodyguard, a man named Aizawa Ametarou.”

“Aizawa...?” It didn’t sound familiar.

“You may not have heard the name; our best information is sketchy. Apparently he’s highly skilled, but not the type to make a big production of himself. It’s said he came from the same school as Kurogasa, and I’m sure you heard of him.

“Yes.” Soujiro had heard a lot about Kurogasa in the old days, and known when he died attacking Kenshin. He had used the Nikaidou Heihou style and was rumored to have mastered its near-mythical ultimate technique of exploiting the target’s emotions to paralyze them, although he tended not to leave anyone alive who knew for sure. Shishio had been certain that such an attack wouldn’t affect Tenken no Soujiro at all, but that was back then... “Shin no Ippou...” he said the name half-aloud.

“No word on whether Aizawa has that technique,” his contact offered. “But then, very few people can say if it even really exists. —But,” he took an optimistic tone, “not even Kurogasa’s reputation quite matched yours, so I’m sure you can handle this. Good luck!” He turned and walked away along the fence.

Soujiro kept standing there; his mind was still unspooling everything he’d known about Kurogasa’s technique—the sword positions formed the characters of numbers: one, eight, ten—but he let that fall into background noise. He worked confusingly on multiple threads at once, and his main attention was elsewhere. _‘More on your level’...?_ In the last year and a half, one time had he faced an opponent ‘on his level’: back in Kyoto when he’d stood stupidly in front of Saitou and survived only by being too pathetic to kill. His stamina had been pushed to the limit up to now, just being used on essentially helpless victims; he was sure that he was no longer capable of a serious battle. _Tonight... I just have today before..._ This Aizawa person would surely be in practice with his sword and, more importantly, would surely want to win; if his skill was at all respectable, that difference would close the gap...

Soujiro couldn’t escape the conclusion. _This is the last day of my life._

He stared at the sides of the yard, outside the shadow of the inn, where the snow shone pale golden pink through the lattice of the trees and their shadows. The small deposits of ice frozen into the branches glittered at him.

“Soujiro?” Reiko called him from the back door, and he belatedly remembered that she was waiting on him to light the stove.

“Sorry! I’m coming!”

“Soujiro, the ash-box!”

He’d started toward her and left it sitting on the barrel, so he had to run back and fetch it before coming inside.

“What kept you?” she asked him.

“It’s just such a pretty morning,” he said, a little winded and flushed from the cold, but smiling brightly. They crossed the kitchen to the empty stove, and Reiko replaced the ash-box and lit the fire while Soujiro paused and stared out the window at the rosy dawn sky.

“Soujiro?” she asked as she straightened up.

He took her in his arms suddenly and hugged her tight. “Let’s have a good day today!”

**********

Through the morning, Soujiro helped prepeare and clean up after breakfast with a smile and intense enthusiasm, but Obachan became worried when he said he was meeting that man again for dinner, and Ojisan gave him a bad shock by peeking into his room as he was memorizing his orders—he managed to hide the message, but shut the door so hastily that he caught Ojisan’s fingers. When he came back out, the note was tucked in his kimono to burn in the stove when he had the chance, and he’d thought of doing the same with the packet of money, but put it away in the trunk instead.

As the hours passed, he tried to stay cheery. If it was his last day on earth, he thought he should do whatever he could to enjoy it, but he was also measuring his life in its hours, and over the lunch dishes—half of that day past—his chest would tighten at random moments and force him to let out dry, isolated sobs, which he tried to hide as coughs or laughs. He didn’t think Junzo was convinced, but if he could fend off his suspicions for a few more hours, it wouldn’t matter anymore...

The giddiness of the morning melted away, leaving a more realistic and chillling view of the fate before him. He’d seen his last springtime—he still felt cheated to have gotten just one—his last sunrise... He’d enjoyed Reiko’s cooking for the last time; he couldn’t enjoy it today. He would never see Tomi again, or Kenshin. In a few hours he would leave Ojisan and Obachan, and when he didn’t come back, she would cry.

At least, it was a good thing he had saved Kenshin’s message; he couldn’t have let himself leave everyone without a word of explanation, but now Ojisan and Obachan would surely find the telegram and reply, and it seemed they and Kenshin had the full story between them. Hardly the way he’d have wanted them to be introduced, but nothing for it now...

And at least, knowing he was going to fail tonight, he wasn’t a killer anymore, that kind of monster that killed others to save itself...

As dinner approached, he was so distraught that he knew they must see it, and Obachan acted concerned, but set him to slicing vegetables as usual—after she’d tried letting him make one private meal the past summer, this was as much cooking as she let him do, and usually he was at least good at it, but today it all came out out in ugly, rough chunks. The sight and sensation of the knife again and again breaking the tough green skin of the cucumbers and slicing through their watery flesh was only a reminder of the fate fast approaching him: that pattern of numerical cuts that he’d memorized, blood, agony, terror—the fear of his brother’s sword. Memories flooded in on him, of all the horrific ways he’d seen people die by the sword— _his_ sword more than not, but since then, he’d been both blessed and cursed to feel some of the pain they went through, and now it was being turned back on him completely. At that, he supposed that he deserved it, like a sort of roundabout execution.

 _This is my last meal... I can’t eat..._ His eyes clenched shut to squeeze back tears. _I’m so scared..._

His hands hadn’t stopped moving when he closed his eyes, and the knife sliced into his thumb and forefinger and he jumped back with a cry.

“Soujiro, what happened!?” Reiko started.

He stared at the cuts and the tiny white line where the knife had barely caught the base of his thumbnail as blood pooled to obscure the shape of the wounds and fell in drops. “I cut myself,” he said, shaking with a small, uncontrollable chuckle.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I should have known better... Here, sit down...” she pushed him into a chair and called out into the hall. “Junzo! Junzo!”

“I’m sorry I got blood on the cucumber,” he giggled softly as Ojisan entered.

“Junzo, stir this for me; I need to go get the bandages.”

With wordless assent, he stirred the sizzling pan mechanically while she went, and Soujiro was aware of him watching like a sentry as he tried to control his laughter at his bleeding hand. He kept that watch even when Reiko got back, and Soujiro squirmed from the burning soap she used to clean the cuts before bandaging them up. While she worked, the clock struck half past five—a half-hour until he had to go to his death—and when she was finished his fingers throbbed, but the tied ends of the bandages were almost cute, like bows.

“I can do this if you’ll get the vegetables,” Reiko said, taking back the stove. Soujiro was facing away from where he’d been cutting and didn’t look back to see how much of his work Junzo had to fix. “Here you go,” Reiko said, handing Soujiro a cup of tea and holding him around the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he forced himself to say. “I have to leave in a little while...” _...And I’ll never come back... I’ll leave like this..._ He winced at the thought, but said “I’ll be okay.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go... Just tell me if there’s anything I can do.” She went back to her cooking, but kept glancing back at him and refilling his tea.

 _I’ll leave just like this..._ Without telling them what was so obviously wrong. He’d leave still lying to them, and put the responsibility on Kenshin to tell them the truth, like a coward... _I should just say it. If they throw me out, I was going to go and die anyway, so it wouldn’t matter..._ He took deep breaths, one after the other, with each one promising that he would use it to say something, but nothing came out. He tried to plan what to say, but thought that if he could just say “Obachan” and commit himself to talking, he could get it all out, however messily. But even at that, he struggled with that same paralysis in his throat, and he found that there was something holding it there, something he could feel from the outside and couldn’t get past.

The clock chimed quarter ‘til six. The cooking was done and they were putting the dishes together. He’d wanted to change clothes and not do this in his Sumidaya uniform, but he’d have to do that now, and it would mean giving up on ever telling them. He stayed sitting where he was.

At nine minutes before the hour—he was watching the clock—Reiko finished the cucumber salads and came back over to him. “Are you still going to go?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to,” she assured him, stroking his hand.

“No... I do have to...”

“You can’t even tell him you’re sick?”

He shook his head and saw her worried frown deepen. _Now or never..._ “Obachan, I—” That blockage stopped him cold, and he didn’t realize why until he’d already glanced over his shoulder to where Junzo was arranging dinner plates, still watching him. _Ojisan!?_ He felt an immediate pang of guilt for it, but it was true—he didn’t want to talk in front of Junzo. After all, Reiko had always been the one who accepted him, even when he’d told her about his past in the summer. She had been the one he could say that to...

She also caught that glance. “Dinner’s running a little late,” she said. “Why don’t you help me take the salads out before you go?”

“Okay.”

Ojisan watched them go as Reiko picked up the tray of green salads and led Soujiro out, not into any of the guests’ rooms, but into the bath where the tubs were heating, empty now while the guests ate. “Soujiro, don’t go tonight,” she said, setting the tray aside.

“I... I have to. —I mean, maybe I won’t get bad fish this time...”

“It’s not really dinner, is it?” she asked.

“Eh?”

“What is it they want so much, to make you go out like this!? Last time, the doctor said you got sick from nerves, and all day I can tell, you’re worrying yourself sick again!”

He stared at her. _That was what the doctor said...?_ No wonder the medicine had always knocked him out; it was probably a sedative. “I... ah...”

“I didn’t want to say anything to make you feel bad... But Soujiro, I’m so worried! You did talk while you were sick, like you were being hurt, or being taken somewhere you didn’t want to go. What are they doing to you!?”

Those words were another shock, but of a different kind, knocking apart all the resolve he’d gathered for his confession. After all this suspicion and questioning, even when she’d known about his past and heard him give himself away in his sleep, Reiko couldn’t imagine him as a killer; she was still sure that he was an innocent victim. He felt tears of gratitude come into his eyes, but it left him trapped. It would be wrong to deceive her, but he couldn’t bear to shatter that faith...

The clock began to ring the hour; he took a step back.

Reiko caught his sleeve. “Please, whatever this is, don’t go! Everyone’s scared! Even your Ojisan’s scared, I know it! Whatever it is, it can’t be worth it!!”

“I have to,” he said. “Obachan, it’s better this way.”

“Soujiro?” Junzo called.

“Yes?”

Junzo’s eyebrows raised for a moment to see them come out of the bath. “You said this was time to leave; where are you going?”

“Oh, he said we’d try a different restaurant this time, don’t worry. Gomennasai, Obachan,” he said, then brushed by Ojisan and into the kitchen. “Just let me finish my tea.” No time, everyone was close outside the door... He took his orders from his kimono, folded the paper one more time to fit, and pushed it into the stove through the grate. Junzo came in behind him as he swallowed the rest of his tea and headed out.

Back in the hall, he let Reiko bundle him up in a heavy coat. “Please, stay warm,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” was the only answer he could give her. The moment had come to say his last goodbye; better to keep it simple and natural... “I’ll see you when I get back,” he said. “See you, Ojisan!” he called.

The answering sound from the ktichen was just rattling dishes—and metal? Maybe the oven? _It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter now..._

With a last look at Reiko, he said “goodbye,” and set off into the cold night.

 _It’s better this way..._ he told himself as he walked, picking up the sword at the appointed place. _Ojisan and Obachan and Tomi and everyone will certainly be safe if I die trying... And nobody else will die because of me..._ Wouldn’t he have done it this way from the start, if only Saizuchi would have just let him die back in Kyoto? Back then, Kenshin’s words to him had still been fresh in his mind—“Don’t be too quick to sacrifice yourself.” Now they seemed like a lifetime ago. _What else can I do? If this is the only way I can protect everyone... It’s okay if I die for that..._

But even as he thought it, his heart squeezed with fearful resistance. _It’s better this way. It’ll be over soon. I shouldn’t be afraid..._ But no matter how he told it to himself, that resistance wouldn’t go away.

It was a long walk to the importer’s house, a large Western-style structure closer to the heart of the city, and when Soujiro finally approached it, he saw only one light on, on the second floor. He slipped in silently through a dark back window, then climbed cautiously toward where he’d seen the light. So close to the end, it felt surreal... Silent blue darkness filled the rooms, but everywhere he could see treasures glinting in the shadows—the police plan of faking a robbery would certainly be believable.

On the story with the lighted window, he came into a large library where he at last saw light shining through a connecting doorway, and he approached it guardedly. It could be a decoy; the bookshelves made it easy for him to approach it unseen, but they could be hiding Aizawa from his sight, as well. As he came near the door, he heard voices from the lighted room; his narrow view into it revealed a richly-furnished study with a mosaic tile floor.

“I wish I could’ve gone with Momoko and the children,” a man said.

“As do I, but they’d have known and had you followed,” answered a deeper, calmer voice.

 _He stayed here in danger so his family could get away...?_ On his previous jobs, Soujiro had numbed himself for the kill, but this time, focussed on his own death, he hadn’t, and was open for the jolting parallel between himself and his target. But it was also strange; how had he known about the threat?

“Quiet,” came the second voice. There was a shuffle of fabric, then the hiss of an unsheathing sword. Soujiro watched the doorway intently.

“He’s here!? You heard him??”

“Perhaps. I feel a presence, very agitated. Strange, after all I’ve heard about Tenken no Soujiro...”

He shuddered at the shock— _They knew **I** was coming! How!?_ An importer was unlikely to have access to that kind of government leak, unless it was intentional. _They gave me away! They’re trying to kill me!! —It doesn’t matter..._ he reminded himself. _Doesn’t matter..._

“Come inside,” came what must be Aizawa’s voice. “Of course I can’t promise not to hurt you, but I’m not a monster.”

All Soujiro had to prepare himself was what he knew about Kurogasa, and supposedly that man had looked like a kind of monster: terrifying eyes with pale pupils on black instead of white, a battle-lined face with a vicious grin... It was that deathly image he prepared himself for before taking a deep breath and whipping around into view of the room.

As a notion of Aizawa’s apearance, it could hardly have been more wrong. The man Soujiro found standing in the middle of the room before him looked simply _magnificent_ , more like Shinomori Aoshi than anyone else he could think of. Aizawa was tall and straight, dressed in a deep plum-purple kimono and a black ankle-length coat whose flowing silhouette was broken only by the two saya at his hip. The wakizashi was still in place, the katana ready in his right hand. His face was serious but smooth, with oddly-striking but unfreakish eyes, and his long, straight, black hair was worn loose and hung like silk.

Behind him, the importer, a fat, middle-aged man, cowered in an armchair, as if at any moment he might leap out of it and run into a corner, the furthest point from Soujiro that he could find. “Remain still, sir,” Aizawa said, his hair swinging beautifully as he turned his head. “It will be difficult for me to defend you if you move suddenly.”

He turned back and took a step forward, and Soujiro almost unconsciously bent his legs and raised his hand in his battou-jutsu stance. He didn’t plan to win or want to hurt anyone; he didn’t know why he should go on-guard, but he felt compelled to as he slowly circled Aizawa and they sized each other up. _Why am I doing this? I’m so scared to get cut... But I don’t want to do this again..._

His eyes paused on Aizawa’s, which were strikingly beautiful. The irises were too dark to distinguish from the pupils, and their strangeness was that they were just slightly larger than normal. They shone like water, wide, deep pools where it seemed the man’s depths could be seen, even as Soujiro could feel those same depths looking back, just as deeply into him. _What am I doing!? He might have Shin no Ippou and I’m looking right into his eyes!_ He began to look away.

“Are you in pain, Soujiro?” Aizawa asked.

Instantly, his gaze was recaptured. “Eh??”

“I feel that you’re confused. Your mind is in conflict. The truth...” Aizawa took a step forward very slowly, lowering his sword a little and looking intensely into his eyes. “The truth is that you are a gentle child. You don’t want to harm us.”

“How—? How did you—!?”

“I can see it in your face. Your blue eyes are beautiful and open.” He continued to advance slowly as Soujiro stood his ground. “By the way you hold your sword, I believe you _are_ the famous Tenken no Soujiro of the merciless smile. I can only imagine that when Shishio fell, you let go of those emotional defenses. Your eyes tell me that you were born that day. That’s why you stand before me now as a child.”

Half of Soujiro’s fear was turning to fascination—to think that this man could read him so accurately, just by looking at his face! It was like the way Kenshin could always see through him, but Kenshin’s insights caught the rough edges, punctured comfortable old ideas, and _hurt_ , as if the words were being pulled out of wounds. By contrast, what Aizawa was saying was very warm and comfortable...

But the other half of the fear was still there, telling him that he was in danger, that no matter how gently he talked, Aizawa had to kill him. That half could see the line, when they would be in range of each others swords, and when Aizawa crossed it, he tried to retreat, but the command died away in his brain; his feet wouldn’t move. _No! I fell for it!_ The fear blossomed in his chest.

“Don’t be afraid,” Aizawa said, seeing it.

“Aizawa!” the importer burst out. “What are you—!?”

He stayed him with his free hand, keeping focused on Soujiro even as a spark crossed those deep eyes. “You are a perfect swordsman,” he told Soujiro. “You don’t only weild the sword; it is a piece of your heart, yet that heart is also kind. You kill, and then you weep for your victim, even if they are a stranger.”

Tears pooled in Soujiro’s eyes, half from fear, and half something else he wasn’t sure of.

“You kill against your will,” Aizawa continued; he had come very close and crouched slowly to the level of the frozen battou-jutsu stance, bringing them eye-to-eye, inches apart. “Someone is forcing you to do this, brutishly abusing your gentle heart. I believe you have suffered terrible pain, and loneliness.” With his free hand, he cupped Soujiro’s cheek.

The importer couldn’t take it anymore and scrambled up and against a wall, as if Soujiro were some horrible insect that his body guard were holding up to him. “For heaven’s sake, Aizawa, get rid of him! Kill him!”

With their faces so close and their gazes locked together, Soujiro saw Aizawa’s eyes spark again. “Sir, with all due respect,” he said sharply, “you know nothing about a swordsman’s heart. For that reason, you must leave this absolutely to me. Be still or leave this room now.”

The interruption was enough to lose the thread of Aizawa’s words to him, and Soujiro began to realized what they meant. Aizawa was reading his emotions in his face and saying them back to him so gently and kindly, pouring over him such a sweet sensation of understanding and acceptance that he let himself do nothing at all but listen—he realized with a shudder that even his breath had stopped. He had fallen into those dark pools in Aizawa’s eyes and was drowning; that spark was a distratction, and he tried to use it to struggle toward the surface, but he felt lost.

“What if there are more!?” the importer protested in terror. “What if he’s just a decoy!?”

“ _Extremely_ unlikely, now go,” Aizawa snapped. The man scuttled out into the dark library, and Soujiro watched the spark as he went.

But what was that spark? Soujiro wouldn’t have credited himself with the kind of insight Kenshin or Aizawa posessed, but he got feelings from it. The entranced, hopeful part of him thought anger at the man interrupting their connection, and that seemed true, but the part of him that clung fastly to his fear saw other things that seemed true as well: fear, desperation. Maybe Aizawa meant what he was saying, but he’d also chosen this as a battle strategy, maybe fearing the reputation of Soujiro’s sword in an open fight. He was keeping Soujiro hypnotized by reading his face aloud, but he wasn’t sure of the tactic. He knew that if he left that thread for long or made a single mistake in what he said, the spell would be broken and he would be killed—and now Soujiro knew it, too. The fearful half of him took hold of his right hand, frozen poised over his sword-handle, and screamed _Make a mistake! Make a mistake!_ The other half of him wanted Aizawa to talk to him again, wanted it to be flawless, even as his lungs began to ache.

As they were left alone in the room, the spark in Aizawa’s eyes faded, and he again began to work the spell. “It must be very lonely for you. Ordinary, kind people cannot accept you as a swordsman who has killed, and those who do cannot understand your gentle heart.”

The parallels with Ojisan on the one hand and the government on the other were all he could ask for, but there was someone in the middle, who could understand both. _Himura-san..._ It again touched the comparison: Aizawa could read him like Kenshin could, but beyond that, they were completely opposite. Kenshin was harsh on his mind but strengthened him, and now Aizawa soothed him like a lullaby while melting him away. By now his chest was burning, his head pounding, like when Saizuchi had had him strangled. _Please, not like this! Not again! Himura-san wouldn’t do this to me! It hurts!_

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry.” As Aizawa spoke, he sheathed his katana and took off his long black coat, which he swept around Soujiro’s back and onto his shoulders. “To find a swordsman at once so famously skilled and so kind, I feel that I am in the presence of a rare, delicate, beautiful creature, but sadly, I fear that the others are right. There is no place in this world for a child like you.”

Again, Kenshin was there to help him argue, but the words echoed his own feelings: lonely, abandoned, abused...

“You have suffered greatly in this cold world, but that is nearly over. Forgive me, but it’s better this way.”

An hour ago, Soujiro had been telling himself ‘it’s better this way,’ but now his fear saw the end coming and cried _Make a mistake! Let me go!_ His vision had begun to fade; everything outside Aizawa’s eyes was dark haze, but he dimly saw him draw his wakizashi, draw back his right shoulder and elbow, and raise it to the level of Soujiro’s heart, poised for one fatal thrust. _No! Let me go! I don’t want to—!!_

“Since you entered this room, you haven’t made a move against me, because you know this is the best way. This is what you want,” Aizawa soothed. “You want to rest from this pain. The truth is...”

He had built to a climax; his next words would be the coup de grace and bring the sword. Even the burning in Soujiro’s chest was drowned out by the opposing wishes inside of him, crying so loudly that he felt he would burst in two. _Tell me what it is! It would be worth it if you tell me—No, get it wrong! Make a mistake! Let me win, LET ME LIVE!!_

“The truth is, you want to die.”

That went too far; the words rang false—the spell was broken. Soujiro’s entranced self spun away in a whirl of confusion, at last betrayed by Aizawa’s words, and the fear instantly shot forward. His breath, his voice, and his sword burst out as one. “ _ **NO!!!**_ ”

No thought was left for the next moment, and the next thing Soujiro knew, he hit the hard, slick floor and skidded to a stop. He lay there, curled on his side and panting to catch his breath until he felt something touch his hair, slapped a hand to it and bolted up.

It was Aizawa’s hand—his right hand. The sword had been flung away, and the blood from his mortal wound was hard to see against his purple kimono, but pooled on the colored tiles, creeping forward along the grout lines. They had landed together; Soujiro raised his head to find them face to face. Aizawa’s dark eyes were dim and watery, but he showed Soujiro a weak, blood-daubed smile. “The legendary Heaven Sword Battou-justsu... It was beautiful...” he quavered.

Soujiro scrambled up to his knees and took him in his arms. “Aizawa-san...”

“I was wrong... This cold world hasn’t broken you yet...” he choked out through the blood. “Amazing child... Maybe......” His voice broke there; his body shuddered.

“Aizawa-san! Aizawa-san!!” Soujiro cried out and shook him, but his eyes rolled back, leaving blank white in place of those beautiful black windows. He was gone beyond return, and Soujiro held him tightly, sobbing into his silky hair as he felt the life drain out of him. When at last he became still, Soujiro lay him straight on his back, folded his hands on his chest, and closed his blank eyes.

He was just standing and sheathing his sword when he heard footsteps behind him in the doorway—it was the importer. “So, Aizawa, are you finished—?”

Soujiro still had Aizawa’s coat draped over his shoulders; from behind, it must have confused him, and when Soujiro turned, he froze in terror. If the man hadn’t come back, Soujiro might have forgotten about him, but now he knew there was nothing for it but to finish the assignment.

“No! Stay away!!” the man screamed. He darted back into the library, but he didn’t know how to use the cover. In his terror, he was unwilling to move even slightly closer to his attacker, so it was all too easy to stay between him and the exits and herd him into a corner. He grabbed books off the shelves and threw them; Soujiro let one bounce off his shoulder as he moved in for the fatal blow.

**********

As Soujiro left the house by the back door, his mind had been blasted bare. He forgot his own coat and walked down the street clutching Aizawa’s long black jacket closely around him as its hem dragged over the snow at his heels. He wasn’t even aware of going anywhere, only wandering around the street in the cold, but some deeper part of his mind must have known that it would be dangerous in this weather not to get home and rest, and his numb feet carried him back inland, toward Sumidaya.

The cold air did little to relieve the breathlessness Aizawa had inflicted on him, which petrified his brain, but still, as he walked, the shock began to fade. His numbness shrank into a circle around him, like the light of a lone streetlamp, and he clung to it as the terrifying black shape of what he’d done threatened from the surrounding darkness. The safety of the light was shrinking, and he knew he would have to let it go. He had to be afraid of that darkness; if he didn’t let it savage him, that would mean that he’d gone back, the worst fate of all, but he wanted the respite to last just a little longer, and pressed forward blindly while it held. _If I could just get home to bed, and lay down and be safe, then it would be okay... Just if I could make it there..._

He had no energy to run, but he was in a hurry, so when he came to Sumidaya’s gate, he pushed numbly through it and walked on, leaving it swinging open. Reiko came out from the glowing doorway and met him in the yard, but he kept walking, and she had to follow back inside behind him. “Soujiro!” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re home! I was worried sick!” When they were in the entry hallway, she stopped him by the arm. “Here, let me—”

“Obachan, please, I’m so tired... I just want to go to bed...”

But she had broken off in surprise. “This isn’t your coat!” she realized as she took the lapels to take it off him.

He distantly began to realize his mistake. “Please, let’s talk about it in the—”

Even as he spoke, Obachan drew the jacket open, and immediately leaped back with a cry of horror. “Oh, my god!! Soujiro, what happened!?!”

“Areh?” She was looking below his face, and he lowered his eyes and raised his hand to try to find the problem. His wrist struck the handle of his sword, and the bump echoed through his entire body—he’d forgotten to take it off. Clinging to the relative comfort of his senseless shock, he’d forgotten about the bubble here, and the secrecy preserving it, but now the two were crashing down together. He looked down and found his worn-white Sumidaya uniform stained violently red with Aizawa’s blood—on the hakama legs where he’d knelt in it, on his chest where he’d held him as he died...

The sight of the blood tore the merciful haze from his mind, which whirled off, sharp but plunged into terror and confusion. As he took a step back to flee, Obachan caught his arm, and he didn’t pull hard enough to break away. He looked up with wide eyes, but she’d gone into action too quickly for him to catch her face. She hurried him firmly to the bath, pushed him in, and shut the door behind him.

“Give me those clothes!” she ordered, her tone more fearful than angry. “I’ll get the stains out—oh, better just burn them!”

He complied almost unconsciously, his mind still spinning, and let the sword fall on the floor as he handed his clothes out the door to her.

“And you get cleaned up before anyone sees you!” she told him, and hurried away.

Without scrubbing himself off first, he blundered across the room and into one of the tubs. The water was still warm, and closed in around him, heavy and smooth as glass, as he sat down against the side of the tub, drawing up his knees until they broke the surface. The air touched them, making two islands of chilly skin above the warm bathwater, which rippled under his breath.

**********

Reiko bundled the bloody clothes in her arms and hurried into the kitchen, pulled the door closed, and turned to the shock that she wasn’t alone in the room.

Junzo was standing at the oven—where she’d been going to burn the clothes—and had put out the fire and pulled the ash-box out. One of her good ceramic platters lay in the ashes, as if he’d used it to smother the flame. She found him grimly scanning some paper, pieced together from fragments that were charred around the edges, and he looked up at her with a dark frown.

“Ah, I was just toing to...” she blurted. It was no use; the stains were showing.

“Reiko.” He came and took her by the shoulders, and she let her face fall against his chest as she began to cry.

**********

Soujiro sat still in the bath, feeling like a criminal waiting for his judge to return with the sentence. The initial shock was gone; he could no longer delay facing what he’d done.

There were smears of Aizawa’s blood on his skin, which the water was only slowly dissolving away. His last words... _‘Amazing child’..._ It seemed to prove that he’d meant everything he’d said, even if it was a battle tactic, too. Soujiro had been blessed to meet someone who could understand his pain, and he’d killed that person with his own hand. And the importer, who’d stayed behind to protect his family’s escape—his family now left without a husband and father—how he cowered and screamed... No one should have to die that way... And now they were both laying there while strangers ransacked the house around them...

 _I can’t blame Ojisan and Obachan if they throw me out... Someone who did a thing like that... They should throw me out..._

And the government, too—in the bathwater, the half-forgotten shock that he had been expected bobbed to the surface again. They had given him his orders and then warned his target about them, down to who and when; they’d been willing to sacrifice the objective they’d given him in order to be rid of him. They wanted him dead. _Why? I did everything they said..._ But it was no use complaining. If he did, they were sure to kill him outright—they might anyway. Saizuchi had said that if they did, it would be slow torture... He curled up so tightly that his chin was in the water.

That was all he had to look forward to, to be sent into their deathtrap assignments again and again until one way or the other, they killed him. _Aizawa-san... I killed him just to get that... I’m so horrible..._ Aizawa’s hypnosis would have been a more comfortable way to die, better than coming back here and hurting Obachan with those bloodstains, having them throw him out to face the end, a long, losing battle, cold and alone... _It would be easier..._

With a long, slow breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his shoulders fall forward until his face was submerged up to the ears. The water tickled sharply in his nose as he held his breath. His lungs were still sore, and again began to burn. _It would be easier..._ he told himself as he fought to hold his breath and stay under. _This way would be easier... but...!_

He couldn’t hold it anymore; he had to come up or take a breath of water. _I should—but—I don’t want—!_

He came up quickly with a splash, hearing knocks on the door. Already he couldn’t tell if the knocking had roused him, or if he’d lifted his head before he heard it. “Yes?” he called, panting to catch his breath.

“Soujiro, I need to talk to you,” Ojisan called.

His heart pounded, but there was nothing else to do. “I’ll be there in a little bit,” he called. He hurriedly scrubbed away the last of the blood and dried off, rubbing the hair around his face into a messy fringe of thin, clingy tendrils, wrapped himself in a robe and went to the door. The dread dragged back on his hand, so it took all his strength to reach forward and slide it open as if in a dream, painfully lightheaded and dizzy.

Ojisan stood outside waiting with crossed arms, Soujiro’s bloodstained clothes and scorched-but-readable fragments of his orders were piled at his feet.

“Junzo, please,” Reiko said, behind and beside him.

He ignored her, and fixed Soujiro with a stern gaze. “Soujiro, if you can explain this, then do it, _now_.”

He sagged back against the wall, defenseless. What could he say? Of course it was exactly what it looked like. _But I swear I didn’t want to! I didn’t know what else to do! I don’t want to be like this... I’m not really like this!_ His mind cried these things out like a child, but again, his mouth didn’t know what to do. His lips and jaw only blundered around in silence. He looked up at Junzo’s face, hoping that he would be able to read it in his eyes like Aizawa had, but Ojisan’s iron gaze didn’t give an inch.

“So it’s true, then.”

With intense effort, Soujiro managed a small, tight nod.

Junzo sighed and spoke, his words slow and clearly chosen. “Last summer when we took you in, I understood that this kind of thing was all in the past, but it seems I was wrong.”

The cries in Soujiro’s mind struggled toward the surface. “I... Ah...h...”

Junzo turned away from him. “I don’t want to see your face,” he said, and walked away down the hall.

Since Soujiro had come home, the bubble had been swirling fast, and with those words it finally burst. He felt like it was a bubble of glass that now hit the floor and shattered, and he fell, too, to the floor on his knees.

Reiko clasped his shoulder for a moment before scooping up the clothes and paper and hurrying after her husband. “Junzo, wait!”

Soujiro let her touch pass by him and sat for a long moment after they left him alone, hollowed-out with shock as Junzo’s pronouncement echoed in that empty space. _‘I never want to see your face.’_ The words struck true and deep—Junzo-ojisan was surely the one in the right. Soujiro had already known it when he came back here a month ago; he’d spend this time decieving and using them, and he’d known a few minutes ago in the bath that this would be the answer and that Ojisan would be right. He could hear Obachan arguing loudly with him down the hall and through a door, although he couldn’t make out the words.

 _I got into this because I wanted to protect everyone, but instead I’ve been hurting them. Ojisan and Obachan were happy before I came here... I never should have come back... I never should have stayed..._

He slowly picked himself up, went back into the bath for the sword, then to his room, picking up the pace to hurry past Ojisan and Obachan’s raised voices. Opening the trunk in the corner, he took out his clothes and dressed; for the first time in months, he put on the old blue-and-purple kimono under the one with blue stripes. He put the sword in his belt, took the envelope of money, and also the telegram—he knew he should leave it for them to find, but he wanted to have it with him. The old stuffed horse was there in the bottom of the trunk, but he avoided looking at it or touching it. As he left the room and closed the door, he was sure he’d seen it for the last time. Probably they would start renting it out again.

In the hallway, he hesitated, but finally took another coat and bundled himself up in it before going outside again. The outside gate was still hanging open from his entrance, and he shut it softly as he passed through and looked back one last time from outside the fence. The first time he’d come here, the summer leaves had obscured it from this distance, but now through the bare branches he could see the “Sumidaya” sign and the building, cold and eerie in the dim light of the streetlamps, dotted here and there with glowing windows.

The Tanabata wish, “To live here in peace with my family”... _Back then, it was already true, and I thought I’d just enjoy it while it lasted..._ In the end, that had been all he could do.

 _For as long as it lasted, thank you. I won’t trouble you anymore._

With that goodbye, he looked away and set off down the street, toward the railroad tracks.

**********

“If you’d just hear him out, I’m sure—!” Reiko insisted, charging out of their bedroom.

“He didn’t seem to have much to say,” Junzo grumped.

“You didn’t give him the chance to say it!” She came to the bath; he wasn’t still there in the hall, so she looked inside, but found it empty. “Soujiro?” she called, passing Junzo on the way back toward his room. That was empty too. “Where is he? Soujiro!”

Junzo must have started looking, too. “There’s another coat gone,” he called.

With a pang of fear, Reiko hurried to Soujiro’s trunk, threw it open and rifled through, tossing aside his Sumidaya jacket and mussing Tomi’s kimono. “His clothes are gone!” In a last, desperate search, she ran into the kitchen. “ _Soujiro!!_ No!! _He’s gone! **He’s gone!!**_ ” Junzo ventured into the kitchen behind her and she turned on him. “How could you talk to him like that!? _How could you do that to him!?!_ ”

“Reiko, I—”

“Do you think he wanted to!?” she screamed, tears running down her lined face. “They _made_ him! They tortured him into it, I just _know_ it!! Oh, god, my poor boy...”

“Reiko, I was only...” Junzo stammered, thrown to the defensive. “I wasn’t trying to throw him out, I—”

Reiko was not placated. She snatched the platter out of the ash-box and threw it at him, smashing it on the floor a few feet off the mark. “ _ **You STUPID STUPID MAN!!!**_ ”

As he dodged out of the kitchen, several guests came running from their rooms. “What’s going on out here!?” “Reiko, what happened!?” Reiko only kept wailing as some regulars went into the kitchen to soothe her.

“It’s Soujiro, we can’t find him,” Junzo explained.

“We’ll look out in the yard,” someone said.

“I think I saw someone go out and turn toward the tracks,” another offered.

“I’ll head that way and look for him,” Junzo said, pulling on the last remaining coat as another cry echoed from the kitchen. “Reiko, I’ll find him!” he called.

**********

Soujiro walked down the street, past the doctor’s darkened clinic to the side of the railroad tracks and followed them inland, away from the city. He knew that it was a cold night, that he should go the opposite direction and find a place to stay until morning or he might freeze, but still he kept walking.

 _The tracks here lead to Tokyo..._ he realized, but he still couldn’t face the risk of going there, even moreso now that he’d lost his family here. It struck him that he wanted to keep the telegram because it was the last thing he had to tie any hope to, but paradoxically, that also meant he couldn’t use it. How could he gamble it, if it was all he had left? _Himura-san knows what happened, and he sent this telegram... He said ‘I’m a friend.’ Maybe that means he doesn’t hate me..._ As long as he had that, it wouldn’t be complete despair...

But the latest crisis past, walking along the tracks with its difficult price of leaving Sumidaya behind forever, he sank back into the thoughts he’d been dwelling on in the bath. Even if Kenshin did want to help, it was still the government; what could he do except make trouble for himself? Nothing was left but a painful, futile fight that could only waste the lives of more beautiful people like Aizawa, inflict more terror, pain, and grief on people like the importer and his family...

The rails rumbled at the approach of the evening train in the distance.

 _That’s all I have to look forward to..._ Soujiro thought. Aizawa’s words returned to him. _‘Kind people cannot accept you as a swordsman who has killed, and those who do cannot understand your gentle heart._

 _‘There is no place in this world for a child like you.’_

He saw the light from the train engine in the distance, down this straight stretch of track. It took so long for a train to stop, by the time the engineer could see him in the dark, it would be too late. Leaning forward for balance, he climbed the gravel mound in three steps to stand between the iron rails.

 _‘You have suffered greatly in this cold world, but that is nearly over. You know that it’s better this way.’_

 _I know... This time..._ He looked down the tracks, watching that light grow larger and brighter, the whistle letting out lazy bursts as it neared the town.

 _‘You want to rest from this pain.’_

He could feel the moment of impact bearing down on him—pain, blood, the final destruction of hope... It would be easier just to look down and close his eyes, but he forced himself to watch it come. His fists clenched; his breath grew shallow and strained, with occasional shudders somewhere between sobbing and laughing. _I don’t want to go on like this. I don’t want to kill anyone else... I don’t want to be lonely..._ Just a few moments of pain, and it could all be over...

 _‘The truth is, you want to die.’_

That had been the mistake that cost Aizawa his life, and now it seemed like a waste. _I do want..._ He tried to make himself say ‘I do want to die,’ but he couldn’t. _I don’t want to... I just don’t know what else to do..._ The exact things that were true about killing others.

The rumble of the train was swelling to bone-shaking volume; the engineer had seen him and the whistle blared wildly, the engine chuffing like the breath of a wild beast but too fast.

 _I don’t want to die! Please tell me something else I can do!_ Memories rushed to his aid—Sanosuke shouting ‘do you think Tomi will be happy when you’re dead?’ Kenshin saying it isn’t as simple as leaving and saying no harm done. ‘If we lose you, we haven’t won.’ _But I’m no good to anybody—_

The train was rushing toward him, the brakes slammed on. The wheels threw sparks with a scream that drowned out the whistle.

Sparks—Tanabata fireworks—green leaves—‘Don’t be too quick to sacrifice yourself.’ Like a gale wind, the oncoming train blew away everything down to the bare foundation, a glimpse of hope for no reason, something at the bottom, indescribable.

The light was blinding, the sound deafening. It took all his strength behind one thought to be heard above it.

 _**I DON’T WANT TO DIE!!!** _

He moved under the force of that thought with such speed that almost before he knew what was happening, the screaming fire of the train was rushing past him, and he hit the ground and skidded to rest, spraying chunks of the days-old snow.

He lay there, curled tightly on his side until the din of screeching metal died away. Fearfully, he tested his limbs for the sensation of the ground and felt his legs with his hand to be sure that they were all still there. Finding his body whole, he threw himself down in the snow, convulsed with tear-streaming sobs and broadly-grinning laughter, both gripping him so powerfully that it hurt, as if he would be torn apart between them, but that pain felt somehow good, like the blow from Sakabatou.

“I don’t want to die!” he laughed through his tears. “ _I don’t want to die...!_ ”

**********

Junzo hurried down the street, his lantern bouncing as he ran. On the path across the yard and in the street, the snow had already been trodden away, so Soujiro hadn’t left any tracks that he could follow.

The evening train’s whistle shrilled in the near distance, and as Ichiro’s clinic came into view, that sound exploded with the grinding squeal of its wheels braking hard. To have to stop like that... _There must have been something on the tracks!_

He ran to the doctor’s door and pounded. “Ichiro! Ichiro, it’s Junzo, wake up!” He glanced desperately down the street as he waited, but heard the train shudder to a halt before it came into view.

Finally, Ichiro opened the door and peeked out. “Junzo, what—”

“Soujiro! He’s run off, and the train— I think he might’ve been hit!!”

Instantly, the doctor was wide awake. “You go see, I’ll be there fast as I can!”

Without another moment’s pause, Junzo dashed down the street and along the tracks to where the train stood, engine panting steam as if winded from a long run. The engineer and attendants were milling around the locomotive with lanterns, and Junzo hurried toward them. “What happened!? I live down the street here, was someone hurt!?” he panted, clutching a stitch in his side.

“If not, it isn’t for lack of trying,” one of the uniformed railroad men said. “Someone was stainding on the tracks. Doesn’t look like we hit them, though.”

The engineer was hunched over with a lantern to the front of the train; he looked pale and shaky, and spoke in a hollowed-out voice. “I kept blowing the whistle, but he just stood there... I couldn’t stop... I didn’t hear it hit, and I don’t see any blood, but...”

“Must’ve dodged at the last second,” the first man said. “Probably some dare, damn stupid kids.”

“Did you see him? What did he look like?” Junzo asked the engineer, although he knew and dreaded the answer he would get.

“It all happened so fast, I couldn’t really see him in the dark. It looked like a blue kimono...”

That was enough to confirm Junzo’s fears. He stood numbly as the railroad men kept shouting to each other and Ichiro ran up behind him. “Is anyone hurt? I’m a doctor.”

“We don’t think so.”

“Find anything?” someone called down the far side of the train.

“Some tracks in the snow, like someone hit the ground and walked away. No blood there, either.”

“See, they must’ve jumped off the tracks,” one of the men assured the engineer, patting his shoulder.

“I’ll go try to find them,” Junzo said, hurrying across to that side with Ichiro close behind.

“If you do, you read that kid the riot act!” one of the men called after them.

Not far down the line, they found the spot, a wide bare swath of ground where the snow was freshly flung aside as if someone had skidded through it, and a set of tracks coming out of the bald patch, headed down the rails, toward the heart of the city and the ocean.

“Was it Soujiro?” Ichiro asked.

“I think so,” Junzo said. He suddenly seized his friend’s shoulders. “Don’t tell Reiko this happened!”

“I won’t. Trust me, I won’t.”

As the train got underway again, they followed Soujiro’s footprints, but soon the path led into streets clear of snow, and from there they couldn’t find his trail.

**********

Once he was a safe distance from Sumidaya, Soujiro hid the sword and knocked at the first inn he came to. He had to wake the owner, and the rooms were all full, but all he needed was shelter from the cold, and the government had given him plenty of money to bribe his way to a spot on the kitchen floor until they opened in the morning. Curled up next to the stove, it was warm and comfortable enough. He’d done much worse, although in the past month he’d gotten used to his bed back home.

 _‘Back home’..._ Maybe he shouldn’t anymore, but he knew that he would never stop calling Sumidaya home, even though he also knew that he would never go back there again. Even as exhausted as he was with guilt and grief, tomorrow he would go, tell the police he was leaving town, and move on somewhere. He hadn’t decided what to do with their sword yet.

But even in the midst of that pain, tonight he felt warm and thankful, almost contented, and settled in with a small, shaky smile. He let himself have it; his pain was still there, for his bloody hands, his Ojisan who didn’t want to see his face, the horrible dead-end path that lay ahead... He could still feel it all, and tears swelled in his eyes burning with weariness, but he also had that indescribable thing deep inside him, what he’d seen in the light of the train at that last second. It was different from fear; he didn’t know what it was, but he was feeling its shape as he knew that for no rational reason, he was glad that he was still alive.

 _That too, I can just hang onto it for as long as it lasts..._

He nestled into the warmth of the strange oven and the gentle, almost-smooth texture of his clothes. As he let himself down into the darkness of an exhausted sleep, he imagined there were nightmares waiting, but was also glad to get some rest. He was still crying, but still clinging lightly to his smile.

 _Owari_

 _(further Autumn updates on hiatus)  
_


End file.
